MURAL  PAINTING  IN 
AMERICA 


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Copyright  by  John  La  Farge 

John  La  Farge:  “The  Ascension.”  Decoration  of  the  chancel  of  the 
Church  of  the  Ascension,  New  York  City 
Example  showing  an  almost  equal  balance  of  landscape  and  figures 


MURAL  PAINTING  IN 
AMERICA 


THE  SCAMMON  LECTURES 

DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  ART  INSTITUTE  OF  CHICAGO, 
MARCH,  1912,  AND  SINCE  GREATLY  ENLARGED 


BY 

EDWIN  HOWLAND  BLASHFIELD 


WITH  NUMEROUS  REPRODUCTIONS  OF 
REPRESENTATIVE  WORKS 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS 

1913 


Copyright,  1913.  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS 

Published  November,  1913 


FOREWORD 


Mural  Painting  may  safely  be  called  the  most 
exacting,  as  it  certainly  is  the  most  complicated, 
form  of  painting  in  the  whole  range  of  art;  its  scope 
includes  figure,  landscape,  and  portrait;  its  practice 
demands  the  widest  education,  the  most  varied 
forms  of  knowledge,  the  most  assured  experience. 
Save  by  the  initiated  it  is  apt  to  be  misapprehended, 
as  a form  of  art  at  best  demanding  little  but  arrange- 
ment, fancy,  lightness  of  hand,  at  worst  as  a com- 
mercial product  calculable  as  to  its  worth  by  the 
hour  and  the  square  foot.  It  is  the  object  of  this 
book  to  try  to  make  a fair  statement  of  the  real  de- 
mands of  Mural  Painting,  and  to  endeavor  to  sug- 
gest its  real  value.  The  book  is  based  upon  six 
lectures  delivered  in  March,  1912,  at  the  Art  Insti- 
tute of  Chicago,  under  the  auspices  of  the  Scammon 
Foundation,  but  since  then,  a nearly  equal  amount 
of  entirely  new  matter  has  been  added. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  The  Importance  of  Decoration i 

I.  THE  DECORATED  BUILDING  AS  A TEACHER  ...  3 

II.  THE  MAIN  FACTORS  IN  OUR  DECORATIVE  TRADITION  . 8 

III.  THE  FOCAL  IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  PUBLIC  BUILDING  . 15 

IV.  OUR  SLOWNESS  TO  REALIZE  THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  DEC- 

ORATIVE ART 19 

V.  NATIONAL  ART  AS  A NATIONAL  ASSET 29 

II.  Harmony  Between  Building  Commissioner  and 

Architect 41 

I.  THE  DANGER  OF  A PERFUNCTORY  ATTITUDE  OF  MIND  . 43 

II.  SELECTION  OF  THE  ARTIST  EXECUTANTS  ....  59 

III.  COMPETITION  VerSUS  DIRECT  APPOINTMENT  ....  6l 

IV.  IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  ARCHITECT 7 1 

III.  Importance  of  Experience  in  the  Mural  Painter  . 77 

I.  EXPERIENCE  PLUS  TALENT  ESSENTIAL 79 

II.  DIFFICULTIES  WHICH  MAKE  EXPERIENCE  ESSENTIAL  . 86 

IV.  Harmony  Between  Building  Commissioner  and 

Mural  Painter 95 

I.  THE  artist’s  CONSTITUENCY  IN  THE  PAST  ...  97 

II.  THE  NOVELTY  OF  THE  SITUATION  IN  RELATION  TO 

MURAL  PAINTING  IN  AMERICA 99 

V.  Mutuality  Between  Architect  and  Mural  Painter  109 

VI.  Mutuality  of  Mural  Painters 123 

I.  DISTRIBUTION  OF  THE  DECORATIVE  WORK  . . . . 1 25 

II.  THE  RELATION  OF  MUTUAL  EFFORT  TO  THE  MAXIMUM 

OF  EXPRESSION I33 

vii 


CONTENTS 


viii 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

III.  THE  PROBLEM  OF  TWO  PAINTERS  WORKING  IN  ONE 

ROOM  135 

IV.  THE  QUESTION  OF  A DIVIDED  RESPONSIBILITY  . . I43 

V.  A POSSIBLE  SOLUTION  OF  A DIFFICULT  PROBLEM  . I54 

VI.  THE  NEED  OF  SKILFUL  ASSISTANTS 164 

VII.  Significance  in  Mural  Painting 173 

I.  SIGNIFICANCE  IN  THE  ART  OF  THE  PAST  . . . . 1 75 

II.  INCLUSIVENESS  OF  DECORATIVE  ART  AS  TO  SIGNIFI- 
CANCE   180 

III.  AMERICANS  HAVE  NO  EXCUSE  FOR  ESCHEWING  SIGNIF- 
ICANCE   186 

VIII.  Fundamental  Education  in  Art 207 

IX.  The  Importance  of  Culture  233 

I.  THE  ATTITUDE  OF  THE  PAST  TOWARD  CULTURE  . . 235 

II.  ECLECTICISM  INEVITABLE  TO  US 244 

X.  Have  We  as  yet  a Style? 249 

XI.  Evolution  of  Present  Practice 259 

I.  THE  INFLUENCE  OF  PUVIS  DE  CHAVANNES  . . . 26l 
II.  OUR  RECENT  TENDENCY  TOWARD  ULTRA-LIGHT  COLOR- 
ATION   268 

XII.  Influence  of  the  Fifteenth  and  Sixteenth  Cen- 
turies   271 

I.  NO  STYLE  FINAL  273 

II.  THE  LESSON  OF  DECADENT  ART 284 

XIII.  Modern  Technic  and  Present  Tendency  ....  289 

XIV.  In  Conclusion 3°S 


INTRODUCTION  TO  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Lack  of  space  makes  it  impossible  to  give  in  this 
book  a more  complete  representation  of  the  work  of 
American  mural  painters.  Young  as  the  school  is, 
an  adequate  presentation  would  require  many  score, 
indeed  even  some  hundreds,  of  illustrations. 

William  Morris  Hunt,  whose  paintings  fell  from 
imperfectly  plastered  walls,  and  John  La  Farge, 
whose  wise  work  remains  to  us  as  a cause  for  lasting 
pride,  were  the  pioneers,  and  were  closely  followed 
by  Will  H.  Low,  with  his  ceiling  in  the  Waldorf. 
Me  Kim’s  great  enterprise  of  the  Boston  Public  Li- 
brary, with  the  presentation  of  the  work  of  Puvis  de 
Chavannes,  John  S.  Sargent,  and  Edwin  A.  Abbey, 
was  nearly  contemporaneous  with  the  building  of 
the  World’s  Fair  of  Chicago,  the  first  big  general 
experiment  in  American  decoration,  when  twenty 
mural  painters  at  least  tried  their  ’prentice  hands. 
Only  a few  years  later  nearly  the  same  group  of 
men,  but  with  many  others  added  to  their  number, 
decorated  the  Library  of  Congress  in  Washington. 
American  mural  painting  was  now  fairly  launched 
both  in  the  East  and  in  the  West. 


IX 


X 


INTRODUCTION  TO  ILLUSTRATIONS 


In  the  latter,  where  the  Chicago  Exhibition  had 
given  such  an  impulse,  the  movement  became  imme- 
diate and  active  in  the  decoration  of  the  State  Capi- 
tols of  Minnesota  and  Iowa  and  later  of  Wisconsin 
and  South  Dakota.  Somewhat  later  still  began  the 
decoration  of  the  Federal  Building  in  Cleveland 
and  of  many  other  important  court-houses  and  post- 
offices  (including  the  Carnegie  Institute  of  Pitts- 
burgh) throughout  the  Middle  West.  In  the  East 
the  decoration  of  the  Library  of  Congress  was  soon 
followed  by  that  of  the  Baltimore  court-house,  the 
Boston  State  House,  the  court-houses  of  Newark, 
Wilkes-Barre,  Youngstown,  Jersey  City,  the  Uni- 
versity Club  of  New  York,  the  College  of  the  City 
of  New  York,  and  a whole  succession  of  libraries, 
churches  (notably  the  Church  of  the  Paulist  Fathers 
in  New  York),  hotels,  theatres,  schools,  and  private 
dwellings.  Very  early  among  the  important  Eastern 
decorations  must  be  accounted  also  the  lunettes  at 
Bowdoin  College  and  the  panels  painted  for  Men- 
delssohn Hall,  New  York,  by  Robert  Blum. 

Upon  many  of  these  buildings  whole  groups  of 
artists  were  employed,  and  such  experiments  as  the 
decoration  of  the  State  capitols  of  Minnesota,  Iowa, 
Wisconsin,  the  court-house  of  Baltimore,  the  Federal 
Building  in  Cleveland,  have  taught  lessons  to  the 
painters  and  public  alike,  affording  to  the  former  a 
practice  indispensable  to  success,  and  helping  the 
latter  to  an  appreciation  of  the  gradual  growth  of 


INTRODUCTION  TO  ILLUSTRATIONS  xi 


mural  art  in  America.  This  practice  was  invaluable 
not  only  to  the  men  who  had  planned  the  decora- 
tion but  to  their  assistants,  who  aided  them  in  carry- 
ing it  out  and  who  thus  became  in  their  own  turn 
planners  and  directors  of  important  decorative  en- 
terprises. 

There  has  been  space  in  this  book  for  representa- 
tion of  only  a few  of  our  mural  painters  and  men 
have  been  left  out  who  are  quite  as  good  as  many  of 
of  those  included,  for  the  list  is  long.  Judging  from 
the  latter,  American  artists,  many  of  them  at  least, 
have  a natural  inclination  toward  decoration,  for 
one  at  once  associates  a highly  developed  decorative 
sense  with  the  names  of  such  painters  as  Vedder,  Cox, 
Parrish,  Miss  Oakley,  Barry  Faulkner,  Jules  Guerin, 
and  indeed  many  others. 

In  the  selection  of  reproductions  for  this  book  an 
attempt  has  been  made  to  choose  subjects  which  il- 
lustrated the  decorative  practice  of  the  mural  painter 
as  influenced  by  varying  conditions,  these  conditions 
being  in  some  cases  indicated  or  explained  in  foot- 
notes. It  should  be  remembered  that  these  little 
reproductions,  each  covering  only  a few  inches  of 
paper,  represent  in  many  cases  wall-paintings  fifty 
feet  long.  It  is  easy  to  realize  that  such  inadequacy 
of  proportion  can  be  only  explanatory  and  may  not 
pretend  to  realistic  presentation. 

No  complete  list  of  American  mural  paintings  ex- 
ists; the  best  thus  far  is  that  published  by  Miss  Flor- 


xii  INTRODUCTION  TO  ILLUSTRATIONS 


ence  N.  Levy  in  her  Art  Annuals.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
that  before  long  a complete  catalogue  may  be  made 
containing  not  only  the  names  of  the  artists  of  the 
subjects  of  the  mural  panels  and  of  their  where- 
abouts but  also  a memorandum  of  their  dimensions. 

The  author  desires  to  give  an  explanation  of  the 
fact  that  the  examples  of  conventional  shapes  of 
panels,  also  of  experimental  and  other  working 
drawings,  are  made  up  wholly  from  his  own  works. 
The  development  of  the  subject  required  a large 
number  of  examples,  and  their  number  in  turn 
necessitated  such  a diminution  of  size,  that  the 
author  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  ask  other  artists 
to  consent  to  such  a miniature  reproduction  of 
their  work. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


John  La  Farge:  “The  Ascension.”  Decoration  of  the 
Chancel  of  the  Church  of  the  Ascension,  New  York 
City Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

Edwin  H.  Blashfield:  Showing  various  shapes  of  panels 

common  to  the  practice  of  a mural  painter 6 

Decoration  for  dome  crown  of  Wisconsin  £ 
tol,  in  process,  with  unpainted  spaces  left 
and  with  duplicate  figures  reserved  as  a 
in  application  of  canvas 

Placing  the  figures  in  a decoration  ) 

Trying  scale  with  a paper  model  ; 

In  Lantern  Crown,  Library  of  Congress 

Trying  scale  of  figures  for  Wisconsin  dome 

Travelling  scaffold  used  at  the  Library  of  Congress  . 34 

Edwin  A.  Abbey:  “Science  Revealing  the  Treasures  of 
the  Earth.”  Decorative  lunette  in  the  main  rotunda 
of  the  State  Capitol  of  Pennsylvania,  Harrisburg  . . 44 

John  W.  Alexander:  “The  Crowning  of  Pittsburg.”  The 
main  panel  in  the  Apotheosis  of  Pittsburg,  Carnegie  In- 


stitute   48 

Hugo  Ballin:  Centre  ceiling  panel  in  a room  of  the  State 

Capitol,  Madison,  Wis 54 

Robert  Blum:  Decoration  in  Mendelssohn  Hall  Glee 

Club,  New  York.  Fragment 60 

xiii 


state  Capi- 
for  goring, 
lternatives 


14 


22 


28 


XIV 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGE 


George  W.  Breck:  “Reflection.”  One  of  the  ceiling  pan- 
els in  the  library  of  the  residence  of  the  late  Whitelaw 
Reid 68 

Kenyon  Cox:  “The  Light  of  Learning.”  Decoration  in 

the  Public  Library,  Winona,  Minn 74 

Arthur  Crisp:  “The  Attributes  of  Dramatic  Art.” 

Decoration  for  wall  by  stairway,  Belasco  Theatre  . 82 

Elliott  Daingerfield:  “The  Epiphany.”  Part  of  the 
decoration  in  the  Church  of  St.  Mary  the  Virgin, 

New  York  City  88 

T.  W.  Dewing:  “The  Da}/s.”  Decoration  in  the  home  of 

Miss  Cheney,  South  Manchester,  Mass 98 

Barry  Faulkner:  Fragment  of  decoration  in  the  house  of 

Mrs.  E.  H.  Harriman  106 

A.  E.  Foringer  and  Vincent  Aderente:  “Yonkers, 

Past  and  Present.”  Panel  from  the  series  in  the  new 
Court-House 112 

Elmer  E.  Garnsey:  One  of  a series  of  “Paintings  of  Sev- 
enteenth-Century Ports”  in  the  Collector’s  room  of 
the  United  States  Custom-House,  New  York  City  . . 118 

Jules  Guerin:  Interior  of  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad  Sta- 
tion, with  men  working  at  the  decorative  maps  . . . 126 

William  Laurel  Harris:  Example  of  the  laying  out,  in 
the  Church  of  St.  Paul  the  Apostle,  New  York,  of  a 
decoration  which  is  being  executed  in  color,  gold,  and 
relief 132 

Albert  Herter:  “Europe.”  One  of  the  decorations  in 
the  tapestry  room  of  the  St.  Francis  Hotel,  San 
Francisco,  Cal 14° 

William  Morris  Hunt:  “The  Flight  of  Night.”  Painted 

for  the  State  Capitol,  Albany,  N.  Y 146 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


xv 

FACING  PAGE 

Francis  C.  Jones:  Decoration  in  apartment  of  the  artist  152 

Charles  R.  Lamb:  Dome  in  Memorial  Chapel,  Minne- 
apolis, Minn.,  executed  in  mosaic 158 

Joseph  Lauber:  “The  Pilgrimage  of  Life.,,  Window  in 

the  First  Congregational  Church,  Montclair,  N.  J.  . . 166 

Will  H.  Low:  “The  Garden  of  Diane.”  Central  panel 
decoration  in  reception  hall  of  the  residence  of  the 
late  Anthony  N.  Brady,  Albany,  N.  Y 170 

Fred  Dana  Marsh:  “Engineering.”  Mural  painting  for 
the  library  of  the  Engineering  Societies,  New  York 
City 176 

George  W.  Maynard:  Ceiling,  Library  of  Congress, 

Washington,  D.  C 182 

Francis  Davis  Millet:  “Paying  for  the  Land,  January 
30,  1658.”  Decoration  of  rotunda,  Hudson  County 
Court-House,  Jersey  City 188 

H.  Siddons  Mowbray:  Decoration  in  the  University  Club 

Library,  New  York  City 194 

Violet  Oakley:  “Penn’s  Vision.”  From  a series  of 
panels  in  the  Governor’s  room  of  the  Pennsylvania 
State  Capitol,  Harrisburg 200 

Maxfield  Parrish:  Decoration  for  the  girls’  dining-room 

of  the  Curtis  Publishing  Company,  Philadelphia  . . 204 

Howard  Pyle:  “The  Genius  of  Art.”  Panel  in  the 

drawing-room  of  the  artist’s  own  house 210 

Robert  Reid:  “The  Speech  of  James  Otis.”  Decora- 
tion in  the  State  House,  Boston,  Mass 216 


John  S.  Sargent:  “The  Dogma  of  the  Trinity.”  Deco- 
ration in  the  Public  Library,  Boston,  Mass 


222 


XVI 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGE 

Herman  T.  Schladermundt:  Decoration  in  the  art 

museum  in  the  residence  of  Mr.  Thomas  F.  Ryan  . . 228 

Andrew  T.  Schwartz:  “Justice” 236 

Taber  Sears:  Frieze  of  the  Apostles,  Church  of  the 

Epiphany,  Pittsburg,  Pa 242 

Edward  Simmons:  “The  Civilization  of  the  Northwest.” 

Panel  in  the  Minnesota  Capitol,  St.  Paul,  Minn.  . . 252 

W.  T.  Smedley:  “The  Awakening  of  a Commonwealth.” 

Panel  in  the  Luzerne  County  Court-House,  Wilkes- 
Barre,  Pa 256 

Abbott  H.  Thayer:  “Florence  Protecting  Her  Arts.” 
Decoration  in  the  vestibule  of  the  Walker  Art  Gallery, 
Bowdoin  College 262 

Louis  C.  Tiffany:  Tiffany  Chapel,  Crypt  of  Cathedral 

of  St.  John  the  Divine 266 

C.  Y.  Turner:  “Washington  Watching  the  Assault  on 
Fort  Lee.”  Decoration  for  the  Cleveland  Court- 
House  . . 274 

Louis  David  Vaillant:  “The  Picnic.”  Decorative  panel  280 

Elihu  Vedder:  “Rome.”  Decoration  in  the  Walker  Art 

Gallery,  Bowdoin  College  ............  286 

Henry  Oliver  Walker:  “The  Boy  of  Winander.”  Lu- 
nette in  the  Library  of  Congress 296 

A.  R.  Willett:  Panel  in  a court-room  of  the  Mahoning 

County  Court-House,  Youngstown,  Ohio  ......  308 


THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


I 


THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 

I 

It  is  the  theory  of  a certain  group  that  art  is  for 
artists,  that  it  can  be  truly  felt  and  known  only  by 
them,  and  that  outside  a charmed  circle  of  their  own 
no  opinion  is  worth  listening  to.  There  are  others 
who  believe  that  the  mysterious  force  which  created 
the  beauty  of  the  world,  earth  and  sky,  shore  and 
sea,  or,  under  the  hand  of  man,  what  we  call  art,  did 
not  do  it  for  the  benefit  of  any  close  corporation,  even 
of  artists. 

Yet  from  the  people  who  look  most  eagerly  for 
that  beauty  come  the  artists,  therefore  they  may 
claim  the  right  to  be  pioneers  and  leaders.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  public  is  as  essential  to  the  creation 
of  art  as  is  handle  to  blade;  it  drives  and  enforces 
the  purpose  of  the  artist.  There  is  need  for  the  ad- 
visory companionship  of  the  cultured  non-profes- 
sional, the  statesman,  historian,  ethnographer,  to 
insist  upon  types,  to  emphasize  points  in  the  cele- 
bration of  wise  policy,  to  show  us  how  and  where  to 
illuminate  the  history  of  our  people.  But  at  their 


3 


4 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


elbow  must  be  the  professional  eye  and  hand  to 
model  those  types,  to  compose  that  celebration,  to 
mix  the  colors  for  that  illumination,  otherwise  the 
noblest  words  may  be  set  to  sorry  music.  For  the 
music’s  harmony  is  made  up  of  the  diverse  yet  con- 
cordant contribution  of  many  minds,  the  sober  sense 
of  one,  the  dreams  of  another,  aspiration  and  re- 
straint, but  all  co-ordinated  in  the  end  by  him  who 
can  confer  plastic  shape. 

Architecture  has  been  called  an  occupation  for 
kings,  but  it  is  because  kings,  presidents,  and  govern- 
ments can  summon  together  the  trained  workers, 
who  approach  by  many  paths,  who  bring  brains  and 
tools,  eye,  hand,  and  book-knowledge,  that  the  gov- 
erning fiat  may  create  a Parthenon,  a cathedral,  a 
Taj,  or  a national  capitol. 

If  we  try  to  recognize  man’s  earliest  cravings  for 
beauty,  and  if  we  hark  backward  to  the  voices  which 
in  the  history  of  his  development  have  been  might- 
iest, to  the  Bible,  the  Iliad,  the  Divine  Comedy,  the 
great  dramas  of  the  Greeks,  and  later  of  the  English, 
we  realize  that  they  were,  for  the  enormous  majority 
of  men,  voices.  They  made  their  appeal  directly 
through  the  ear  to  the  mind.  The  people  sat  in 
circle  about  sage  or  prophet  or  poet,  and  listened 
to  him.  In  the  Orient,  which  has  stood  compara- 
tively still,  and  where  few  people  read,  you  may  see 
them  doing  it  to-day.  The  admonition  or  sentiment 
or  story  was  repeated  by  the  listeners,  repeated  in 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


5 


chorus;  set  to  music  it  became  the  hymn  or  the 
popular  song,  and  in  such  shape  it  made  its  strong- 
est uttered  appeal  to  the  mind  and  senses  through  the 
ear.  But  the  eye  of  man  admits  an  even  more  im- 
mediate appeal;  with  the  rude  and  uncultivated 
the  road  to  the  mind  from  the  eye  seems  still  shorter 
than  from  the  ear.  Not  even  the  Anacreontic  song 
would  stir  quite  as  quickly  as  the  carved  and  painted 
relief  of  nymph  and  faun,  not  even  the  hymn  to  the 
deity  could  strike  as  forcibly  and  immediately  as  the 
colossal  goddess  Athene  shining  in  gold  and  ivory 
upon  her  pedestal.  Not  even  the  most  fluent  nar- 
rator could  unfold  his  story  so  swiftly  as  could  the 
frieze  of  the  great  altar  of  Pergamon.  In  the  con- 
demnation of  the  graven  image  the  Jewish  law- 
giver relied  mightily  upon  the  spirituality  of  his 
people,  but  in  the  West,  from  Egypt  to  Ireland,  the 
rule  of  the  iconoclast  has  been  short.  The  temple 
and  the  cathedral  spoke  to  the  eye,  but  they  spoke 
as  loudly  as  did  Iliad  or  Bible,  and  they  told  the 
same  story.  No  one  knew  this  better  than  did  the 
priest,  whether  he  were  pagan  or  Christian,  wore 
fillet  or  chasuble,  or  scapular  indeed,  for  as  monk  he 
took  up  brush  and  chisel  himself.  All  over  the  an- 
tique and  mediaeval  world,  throughout  the  Greek 
islands,  the  mountains  of  Asia  Minor,  the  plains  of 
Europe,  the  forests  of  the  north,  the  priest  set  up 
the  artist  as  schoolmaster,  and  his  school  became  the 
public  building. 


6 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


“ Pictures  are  the  books  of  the  ignorant,”  said  St. 
Augustine,  and  to  appeal  to  their  unlettered  citizens 
the  old  republics  used  them,  knowing  that  few  can 
grasp  an  idea,  but  that  a visible,  tangible  image  is 
easily  understood. 

In  Athens  twenty-two  hundred  years  ago,  in  Rome 
eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  the  man  who  lacked  the 
power  or  the  will  or  the  time  to  read  went  to  the 
public  buildings  to  learn  history,  which  he  found 
there  painted  and  sculptured  so  plainly  that  he 
learned  without  effort.  To-day,  the  same  citizen 
in  Paris  walks  around  the  courtyard  of  the  Inva- 
lides,  and  easily  gets  the  battles  of  the  republic  by 
heart.  At  the  Pantheon  he  is  taught  who  civilized 
his  country  and  who  fought  for  it;  he  sees  Charle- 
magne as  civilizer,  St.  Louis  as  lawgiver,  Jeanne 
d’Arc  as  liberator.  When  he  goes  for  whatever 
business  may  be  to  the  mairie  or  headquarters  of 
his  particular  ward,  he  finds  that  famous  artists 
have  celebrated  and  dignified  the  various  public 
functions  performed  there  by  carving  and  painting 
the  walls  with  subjects  which  refer  to  them.  At  the 
Sorbonne,  which  is  the  temple  of  science  and  law, 
he  is  immediately  taught  something  about  things 
very  desirable  indeed  to  know,  yet  which  would 
never  have  occurred  to  him  if  he  had  not  seen  them 
painted.  He  can’t  help  asking,  for  instance,  what 
that  means — that  man  in  the  fresco  who  is  binding 
up  a wounded  soldier’s  leg,  while  others  in  armor  are 


Edwin  H.  Blashfield:  Showing  various  shapes  of  panels 
common  to  the  practice  of  a mural  painter 

I.  (Wide  pendentive)  Hudson  County  Court-House.  II.  (Narrow  penden- 
tive)  Youngstown  Court-House.  III.  (Depressed  lunette)  Cleveland 
Trust  Company.  IV.  (Portion  of  collar)  Dome  of  Library  of  Congress 


From  a photograph,  copyright 
by  Curtis  Gr  Cameron 


See  illustration  facing  page  14 


VII 


Edwin  H.  Blashfield:  Showing  various  shapes  of  panels 
common  to  the  practice  of  a mural  painter  (continued) 

V.  (Lunette)  Minnesota  Capitol.  VI.  (Square)  Panel  in  Appellate  Court,  New  York 
City.  VII.  (Dome  crown)  Wisconsin  State  Capitol.  VIII.  (Rectangle  with  rounded 
ends)  Panel  in  house  of  Mr.  Adolph  Lewisohn 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION  7 


defending  the  wall,  and  a priest  and  acolyte  stand 
by  with  crucifix  and  wafer  to  absolve  the  soldier  if 
he  has  to  die.  Our  onlooker  is  told  that  that  is 
Ambroise  Pare,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  teaching 
men  for  the  first  time  to  tie  up  an  artery.  Then  that 
modern  Parisian  workman  realizes  that  once  there 
was  a time  when  a man  badly  hurt  in  a fight  or  an 
accident  bled  to  death  surely,  and  he  thinks  that 
things  are  better  now,  and  in  a vague  way  he  re- 
members Ambroise  Pare,  not  as  a name  perhaps,  but 
as  the  bearded  man  in  black  trunk  hose,  working 
among  armored  soldiers  of  long  ago.  And  so  which- 
ever way  he  turns  he  sees  on  the  walls  the  figures  and 
the  stories  of  those  who  have  helped  him  in  the  past 
and  have  urged  progress. 

The  artist  is  teaching  the  lesson  of  intellectual  de- 
velopment; teaching  it  with  brush  and  chisel  to  the 
child  who  has  not  yet  learned  to  read  and  the  peas- 
ant who  is  too  old  to  learn.  Wise  and  ignorant  alike 
can  study  the  great  picture-book  and  see  how  seven 
hundred  years  ago  the  monk  Abelard  taught  French- 
men to  think  for  themselves;  how  Louis,  the  king, 
learned  to  obey  that  he  might  learn  to  command; 
how  Richelieu  gave  a great  college  to  the  people; 
how  Cuvier  and  Buffon  revealed  the  animals  to 
man;  how  Papin  and  Lavoisier  made  fire  and  steam 
obey  them  and  poisons  turn  to  healing  drugs. 

So  he  is  taught  of  the  benefactors  of  France,  and 
when  he  next  sees  it  he  understands  the  great  in- 


8 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


scription  in  letters  of  gold  upon  the  pediment  of 
the  Pantheon:  “A  grateful  country  to  its  great 
men.” 

It  is  a common  thing  to  say:  “How  intelligent  the 
French  workman  is;  how  he  understands  pictures!” 
But  a great  deal  of  this  quickness  comes  from  the 
fact  that  he  has  been  learning  from  them  all  his  life. 
And  if  this  is  good  for  the  uneducated  Frenchman, 
it  is  good,  too,  for  the  uneducated  Irishman,  German, 
Swede,  Italian,  who  may  stroll  into  some  new  city 
hall  in  our  own  country.  This  is  the  strongest  ap- 
peal which  can  be  made  for  public  and  municipal 
art,  that  it  is  a public  and  municipal  educator. 

II 

In  writing  a series  of  chapters  upon  decorative 
art  as  applied  to  public  buildings,  the  first  difficulty 
which  I experience  is  that  of  making  subdivisions  of 
my  subject  which  shall  be  in  any  way  independent 
of  each  other. 

Mr.  Cox,  in  his  illuminating  lectures,  has  treated 
the  classic  spirit  in  art,  and  has  devoted  chapters  to 
subject,  drawing,  color,  modelling,  etc.  His  general 
subject,  running  through  all  his  book,  is,  as  I under- 
stand it,  the  classic  spirit  and  its  influence  upon  the 
art  of  to-day,  positive  or  potential.  My  subject 
will  be  the  same  reversed,  that  is  to  say,  the  Modern 
Tendency  in  Art  as  Influenced  by  the  Spirit  of  the 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


9 


Past.  Under  it  will  naturally  fall  the  same  subdi- 
visions of  composition,  drawing,  color,  and  subject, 
which  last  may  also  be  called  significance  in  decora- 
tive work.  These  latter  qualities  are  to  some  ex- 
tent separable,  but  there  are  other  subjects  which  I 
wish  to  discuss  and  find  practically  inseparable. 
Such,  for  instance,  are  Catholicity  of  Thought,  that 
is  to  say,  a fair-minded  consideration  of  the  relations 
of  ourselves  and  our  methods  to  the  personalities 
and  methods  of  other  people;  the  necessity  for  har- 
mony between  architect,  sculptor,  and  painter;  the 
necessity  for  experience  as  well  as  talent  in  the 
decorative  artist. 

Between  such  subjects  there  is  constant  interplay; 
catholicity  can  hardly  be  bred  save  by  experience, 
which  in  turn  is  absolutely  essential  to  harmony;  so 
that  the  discussions  of  each  chapter  will  to  a cer- 
tain extent  echo  or  foreshadow  those  which  go  before 
or  come  after. 

The  creation  of  a great  building,  with  its  scale, 
proportions,  distribution,  and  decoration — all  of 
which  qualities  have  the  most  intimate  association 
with  art — is  a prodigious  achievement.  Its  authors 
may  learn  from  the  whole  field  of  endeavor  of  the 
past,  and  the  greater  their  knowledge  of  bygone  ex- 
perience, the  better  their  own  experience  is  likely  to 
be;  the  more  needs  they  have  seen  served,  the  more 
needs  they  will  be  able  to  meet. 

And  yet  there  are  restless  souls  to-day  who  cry 


io  IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


constantly  for  what  they  call  originality,  not  only  in 
relation  to  new  needs,  which  is  reasonable,  but  in 
relation  to  all  old  art,  which  is  parricidal;  and  who 
would  have  us  disinherit  ourselves.  Catholicity  is 
the  last  thing  they  wish  to  entertain.  But  study  of 
our  legacy  from  the  past  shows  us  at  once  what 
various  needs  have  been  met  and  what  a lesson  may 
be  learned  from  it.  Throughout  the  following  chap- 
ters the  results  of  such  study  upon  our  modern 
practice,  the  effect,  in  sum,  of  tradition,  will  appear. 
It  is  perhaps  well  to  begin  by  touching  for  a moment 
upon  four  or  five  of  the  principal  phases  of  art  evo- 
lution which  have  gone  to  the  shaping  of  that  tra- 
dition. 

Our  earliest  masters  in  decoration,  the  Egyptians 
and  Greeks,  had  a cloudless  sky,  and  in  their  art 
they  suited  themselves  to  this  condition  with  con- 
summate skill.  The  cathedral-builders  of  north- 
ern Europe  more  than  a thousand  years  later 
had  gray  skies  and  dark  rainy  seasons,  and  they 
turned  their  churches  into  great  stone  cages  and 
filled  the  huge  openings  with  translucent  color  of 
glass.  The  churches  of  the  Romanesque  period  in 
Italy  and  southern  France,  which  geographically 
and  climatically  were  half-way  stations  between 
Greece  and  the  land  of  the  northern  Gothic,  were 
intermediate  also  as  to  decoration,  combining  stained 
glass  with  a predominance  of  polychromatic  paint- 
ing. 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION  n 


Here  and  to-day  we  may  learn  from  all  this  past 
with  its  widely  spaced  periods.  Our  country  is  one 
of  bright  skies,  but  there  is  a time  in  our  rainy 
eastern  winters  when  stained  glass  is  none  too  bril- 
liant for  us;  while  in  southern  California  and  Texas, 
New  Mexico  and  Arizona,  the  decorator  of  the  future 
will  remember  the  exterior  polychromy  of  Greece 
and  Egypt  with  infinite  advantage. 

Once  you  are  confronted  in  situ  with  the  physical 
conditions  of  such  countries,  you  learn  a whole 
lesson  almost  in  a moment.  One  does  not  forget 
one’s  first  Egyptian  temple;  mine  was  Denderah. 
As  our  procession  of  donkey  riders  filed  along  the 
dikes  between  the  fields  that  led  toward  it  from  the 
Nile,  we  saw  what  seemed  a little  whitewashed 
stone  hut  in  which  workmen  might  lay  away  their 
tools.  After  a mile  or  two  it  grew  into  one  of  the 
mightiest  temples  of  the  world,  but  the  blazing  sun  of 
Egypt  had  so  swallowed  up  all  modelling  that  from 
far  off  it  looked  like  a lump  of  chalk,  for  its  antique 
exterior  coating  of  color  had  disappeared,  rubbed 
away  by  the  flying  sand  of  two  thousand  years  and 
the  occasional,  though  very  rare,  rain-showers.  In 
Egypt  the  noonday  sky  is  a huge  blotter — it  drinks 
up  all  modelling;  but  at  evening  marvellous  color 
streams  back  again  with  the  lengthening  shadows. 
The  Egyptians  understood  these  conditions  per- 
fectly. They  knew  that  sculpture  in  the  round, 
placed  out  of  doors,  must  be  colossal  in  order  to 


i2  IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


present  shadows  big  enough  to  be  seen,  for  Ra, 
the  sun-god,  was  pitiless  to  anything  puny;  and  in 
decorating  a wall  for  the  open  air  they  not  only  cut 
their  figures  in  relief  and  painted  them  in  strong 
colors,  but  often  incised  a deep  line  around  the  entire 
figure  to  stop  out  reflections  and  force  the  definition 
as  far  as  they  possibly  could.  To  meet  one  of  these 
reliefs  indoors  in  a museum  is  to  be  surprised;  to 
see  it  under  the  sun  of  Luxor  or  Kom  Ombos  is  to 
understand  in  a moment  the  decorator’s  point  of 
view. 

In  the  British  Museum,  even  in  the  Acropolis 
Museum  of  Athens,  when,  if  you  look  at  the  Panathe- 
naic  frieze,  you  think,  “What  a pity  to  have  daubed 
those  wonderful  young  men  and  maidens  with  paint,” 
you  are  seeing  like  a modern.  But  when  you  stand 
on  the  steps  of  the  Parthenon  and  look  upward  to 
the  place  where  the  procession  of  riders  and  vase- 
carriers  once  marched  along  in  marble,  you  begin  to 
see  more  like  an  old  Greek.  Some  remnants  of  re- 
lief-work are  still  up  there,  and  the  yellow  blaze  of 
reflected  color  from  the  pavement  eats  away  every 
bit  of  their  modelling.  Now  you  know  that  the  blue 
background  was  needed  to  enable  you  to  make  out 
the  horses  at  all  with  their  prancing  legs.  The  old 
Greek,  you  may  be  sure,  put  on  the  strongest  colors 
and  even  metal  where  he  could,  in  bit  and  sword- 
hilt  and  spear-head;  you  understand  now  why  he 
did  it — and  you  have  learned  a lesson  in  decoration. 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION  13 


How  the  schemes  of  color  may  have  been  originally 
planned  in  Greece  and  Egypt,  and  how  much  sub- 
tility, or  what  we  call  tone,  they  had,  is  hard  to  say — 
perhaps  it  is  impossible.  I have  examined  much  color 
and  remain  doubtful;  pigment  has  subsisted  vari- 
ously in  various  places.  At  Abydos  yellow  has  most 
resisted  time;  at  Dayr  el  Bahree  red.  At  Philae  in 
the  ceilings  and  capitals  there  is  a really  exquisite 
succession  of  greens,  blues,  and  whites,  but  in  each 
case  on  further  examination  I have  found  traces  of 
color  now  faded,  which  when  fresh  would  have  gone 
far  toward  what  with  our  modern  ideas  we  should 
consider  a coarsening  of  the  effect.  The  fact  is  that 
the  Greek  or  Egyptian  could  afford  to  be  violent 
with  his  exterior  coloring,  for  right  at  his  elbow  was 
always  the  sun-god  with  his  prodigious  capacity  for 
glazing  and  harmonizing  everything  in  nature. 

When  all  is  said,  however,  it  is  doubtful  whether 
the  decorators  of  Greece  and  Egypt  were  as  subtly 
rich  in  their  coloration  as  those  later  Greeks  whom 
we  name  Byzantine,  who  came  after  Alexander  the 
Great  had  opened  the  East,  and  who  could  thereby 
have  in  them  more  of  what  we  call  the  Oriental  feel- 
ing. The  Roman  Empire  made  great  use  of  natural 
stones,  adored  marbles,  and  quarried  them  at  the 
ends  of  the  earth.  Splendid  as  they  were,  they  were 
not  quite  so  solemnly  gorgeous  as  the  wonderful 
glass  pastes  which  Byzantines  compounded  with 
their  chemistry,  rolled  into  sheets,  cut  up  into  little 


i4  IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


cubes,  and  spread  as  a glorious  surface  for  you  and 
me  to  learn  from  still,  upon  the  walls  and  vaultings 
of  Constantinople,  Ravenna  and  Palermo,  Cefalu 
and  Venice. 

The  men  of  the  Middle  Ages,  Giotto  and  the  rest, 
were  more  modest  with  their  paint-box  than  By- 
zantine or  Roman,  and  went  back  to  plain  water- 
color  upon  plaster.  These  story  tellers — for  the 
story,  so  despised  nowadays,  was  what  they  sought 
first  and  last — have  left  in'  this  same  unpretending 
water-color  of  the  fourteenth  century  some  of  the 
simplest  yet  completest  and  noblest  decorations  that 
have  ever  been  painted,  fruitful  in  lessons  for  us  to- 
day. 

As  for  the  general  lesson,  indeed,  we  have  now  run 
the  gamut.  What  came  after  the  fourteenth  century 
was,  with  one  important  exception,  a recasting  of 
older  methods  by  which  we  are  still  profiting.  The 
Renaissance  used  the  bronze  and  marble  of  Roman 
decoration,  the  mosaic  of  the  Byzantines,  and  the 
water-color  of  the  Middle  Ages,  adding  the  one  im- 
portant factor  of  oil-painting.  How  much  oil-paint- 
ing was  independent,  how  much  it  was  based  on 
tempera,  and  just  when  it  became  pure  oil-painting 
we  do  not  know,  perhaps  never  shall.  The  question 
is  very  near  to  being  the  most  interesting  one  before 
the  investigator  of  methods  to-day. 

Incidentally  in  the  fifteenth  century  Italian 
artists  studied  anatomy  and  perspective.  These  we 


Edwin  H.  Blashfield:  Decoration  for  dome  crown  of  Wisconsin  State  Capitol,  in  process,  with  unpainted  spaces  left 
for  goring,  and  with  duplicate  figures  reserved  as  alternatives  in  application  of  canvas  (below  are  figures  of  the 
executants,  showing  scale). 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION  15 


need  not  discuss,  save  to  note  that  the  painters  fell 
so  much  in  love  with  the  new  sciences  as  to  force 
too  much  modelling  into  their  frescoes,  and  thereby 
so  confuse  them  that  a process  of  elimination  under 
the  hands  of  Michelangelo,  Raphael,  or  Titian,  be- 
came necessary  before  decoration  could  be  broad- 
ened sufficiently  to  fill  its  fullest  scope  of  excellence. 
There  we  have  it,  then,  to  look  back  upon  and  study, 
the  Greek  and  Egyptian  understanding  of  conditions 
applicable  to  out-and-in-door  polychromy,  the  metals 
and  marbles  of  the  Romans,  the  mosaic  and  glass  of 
the  Byzantines  and  the  Middle  Ages,  the  water- 
color  and  tempera  of  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth 
centuries,  the  oil-painting  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
the  revived  classicism  of  a while  ago,  the  roman- 
ticism of  yesterday,  and  the  impressionism  of  to-day. 
What  have  we  done  with  it?  What  are  we  doing? 
What  are  we  going  to  do? 

Ill 

To  emphasize  the  importance  of  that  which  we 
call  the  decoration  of  public  buildings  will  be  the 
burden  of  what  I have  to  say  first  in  these  chapters. 
Next  wall  come  the  study  of  the  conditions  which 
are  most  favorable  or  unfavorable  to  our  young 
students  taking  an  active  part  in  this  decoration; 
for  in  the  hands  of  the  rising  generation  of  artists 
lies  the  future  of  American  art. 


16  IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


The  decoration  of  public  buildings  is  the  most  im- 
portant question  in  the  consideration  of  that  same 
art  of  the  future,  just  as  it  always  has  been  in  the 
past  of  any  and  every  national  art  from  the  time 
of  the  pyramid-builders  down.  Indeed,  it  passes  far 
beyond  the  question  of  art  to  the  questions  of  morals 
and  patriotism  and  general  culture.  The  temples, 
the  cathedrals,  the  town  halls  have  been  the  arch- 
schoolmasters of  the  ages.  Eons  and  eons  of  years 
went  to  the  preparation  of  these  great  teachers  of 
mankind,  for  the  first  pupils  were  pupils  of  nature: 
and  the  aboriginal  men  who  were  the  original  art- 
ists had  first  to  evolve  their  schoolmasters,  then  in 
turn  to  be  developed  by  them. 

When  man  in  his  primeval  childhood  lost  his  tail 
but  kept  his  curiosity  and  his  imitativeness,  he  began 
to  scratch  or  whittle  with  a flint  upon  a bone  or  a 
stone  doubtful  semblances  of  things  he  saw  about 
him.  He  commenced  as  an  individualist;  he  scooped 
up  the  colored  earths  from  the  edges  of  the  puddles, 
or  the  juice  of  crushed  berries,  and  painted  them  upon 
his  own  body,  or  smeared  the  colors  onto  the  walls 
of  his  own  cave. 

After  long,  long  steps — so  long  that  they  are  in- 
conceivable to  us,  so  long  that  all  the  time  which  has 
elapsed  from  the  rigging  of  the  first  rude  sail  on  a 
prehistoric  dugout  down  to  the  latest  turbine- 
motored  sea-going  monster  is  but  short  as  compared 
with  the  evolution  of  one  from  another  of  human- 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION  17 


ity’s  primitive  contrivings — the  arts  began  to  grow  a 
little.  Man  learned  to  weave  fibre  into  some  sort 
of  a stuff,  to  form  clay  into  some  sort  of  a vessel, 
and  as  he  was  afraid  of  a mysterious  deity,  who  could 
hurt  him  with  wind  or  rain  or  blast  him  with  light- 
ning, he  honored  that  same  deity  not  only  with  the 
fruit  of  his  spear  and  club,  but  with  the  work  of  his 
hands  in  weaving  and  modelling.  And  so  the  pre- 
historic man  from  an  individualist  became  to  a cer- 
tain extent  a collectivist,  and  the  arts  entered  the 
service  of  the  public. 

As  they  grew,  and  as  metal-working  was  better 
understood,  and  glass  was  invented,  and  textiles 
were  improved,  in  what  we  call  the  antique  world, 
the  world  of  the  people  who  lived  about  the  basin 
of  the  Mediterranean,  life,  in  spite  of  its  hardness 
and  cruelty,  grew  very  beautiful  in  some  respects; 
and  of  all  that  life,  covering  thousands  of  years  of 
time,  thousands  of  square  miles  of  space,  almost  the 
only  message  that  has  come  down  to  us  is  the  message 
of  the  graphic  arts.  The  great  sister  art  of  poetry 
sounded  as  loud  a note  of  celebration,  but  a very 
large  part  of  what  we  know  about  the  peoples  of 
early  antiquity  comes  from  the  work  which  they 
created  with  their  hands  to  please  their  minds 
through  their  eyes. 

And  the  very  flower  of  this  creation  went  to  the 
buildings  which  sheltered  the  priest  and  the  king  and 
represented  law  and  majesty,  sacred  and  profane. 


1 8 IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION, 


However  beautiful  the  little  statuettes,  the  figurines 
and  vases  of  daily  Greek  life  might  be,  the  greatest 
works  went  to  the  temple,  and  it  was  of  the  colossal 
statue  at  Olympia  that  the  contemporaneous  his- 
torian wrote:  “No  Greek  can  be  accounted  truly 
fortunate  who  has  not  seen  the  Zeus  of  Phidias.”  As 
art  penetrated  the  north,  the  same  conditions  gov- 
erned; the  glass  which  with  its  colors  helped  to  make 
the  tables  of  Greeks  and  Egyptians  gay,  grew  'into 
solemnity  in  the  basilica’s  mosaics,  and  into  splendor 
in  the  windows  of  the  cathedrals. 

The  names  of  the  public  buildings  are  the  century- 
marks  of  the  ages.  Just  as  King  Edward  raised  a 
stone  cross  wherever  the  body  of  Eleanor  was  laid 
down  on  its  progress  to  Westminster,  so  wherever 
the  footprints  of  the  spirit  of  civilization  have  rested 
most  firmly  some  milestone  of  human  progress  has 
risen  to  be  called  Parthenon  or  Notre  Dame,  Giotto’s 
Tower  or  Louvre,  and  to  teach  from  within  and 
without,  by  proportion  and  scale,  by  picture  and 
statue,  the  history  of  the  people  who  build  it;  to 
celebrate  patriotism,  inculcate  morals,  and  to  stand 
as  the  visible  concrete  symbol  of  high  endeavor — the 
effort  of  man  in  his  own  handiwork  to  prove  himself 
worthy  of  the  Creator  whose  handiwork  he  is. 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION  19 


IV 

Why,  then,  if  the  very  names  of  these  monu- 
ments attest  their  importance,  further  support  the 
attestation?  It  is  because,  while  the  average  in- 
telligent American  will  admit  what  I have  just  said, 
he  will  forget  all  about  it  the  moment  he  is  con- 
fronted by  his  concrete  problem  in  this  field  and  by 
what  he  calls  the  necessities  of  the  situation. 

And  what  are  the  necessities  of  a situation?  To 
instance  them  let  us  take  some  famous  town  hall  as 
the  most  representative  of  possible  buildings — say 
the  town  hall  of  Brussels,  and  in  it  a room  which 
may  be  the  salle  des  mariages.  Now,  in  a perfectly 
plain,  plastered  room,  costing  very  little  money,  you 
could  marry  just  as  many  people  a day  and  shelter 
them  just  as  well  from  rain,  heat,  and  cold  as  in  a 
room  made  charming  with  decorations,  and  in  a 
building  famous  forever  by  its  Gothic  loveliness. 

But  is  there  not  something  to  be  said  for  this 
latter  quality?  The  man  in  the  street  may  reply: 
“After  all,  it  is  no  wonder  that  your  town  halls  of 
Belgium,  your  merchants’  exchange  of  Perugia,  your 
people’s  palaces  of  Siena  and  Florence  were  famous 
for  their  art.  They  had  nothing  but  their  art  to 
boast  of.  We  to-day  could  not  for  a moment  tolerate 
their  inconvenience,  their  lack  of  telephones  and 
heat  and  elevators;  and  in  the  interests  of  business 


20  IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


to-day  we  demand  something  better.  We  propose 
for  ourselves  infinitely  greater  convenience  of  every 
kind,  and  shall  concentrate  ourselves  upon  that.” 

And  why?  If  you  are  already  masters  of  the 
situation  as  regards  convenience,  and  if  at  the  same 
time  you  realize  that  qualities  for  which  you  have 
relatively  little  aptitude,  decorative  qualities,  have 
made  those  old  public  buildings  famous  through  all 
time,  why,  I ask  it  again  with  emphasis,  do  you  not 
give  serious  thought  to  your  weak  points  as  well  as 
to  your  strong  ones? 

Do  you  say  that  you  neglect  the  artistic  side  of 
the  question  because  the  time  for  it  is  gone  and  past, 
and  that  we  as  a people  are  fitted  only  for  the  prac- 
tical? Such  a statement  may  be  emphatically 
denied.  American  art,  on  the  contrary,  is  advancing 
rapidly.  The  landscape  and  portrait  schools  are  fully 
abreast  of  anything  immediately  modern,  and  the 
school  of  decorative  painting  is  following  closely 
after  the  other  two. 

It  is  seriousness  of  purpose  that  is  lacking,  not 
capacity  for  attacking  the  decorative  problem.  If 
once  this  seriousness  can  obtain,  if  once  the  public 
can  be  convinced  of  the  prodigious  importance  of 
good  decoration  of  the  municipal,  State,  and  national 
buildings,  all  the  rest  will  follow  as  surely  as  noon 
follows  morning,  for  there  is  plenty  of  capacity  in 
America — it  only  needs  to  be  developed. 

It  can  be  developed  only  by  experience,  and  by 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION  21 


experience  along  special  lines.  This  fact  we  must 
grasp  firmly,  and  accept  absolutely;  otherwise  we 
shall  stumble  along,  delaying  our  opportunity,  and 
expending  our  effort,  our  money,  and  our  most 
precious  time  unwisely. 

It  is  quite  true  that  at  the  first  blush  this  advo- 
cacy of  the  importance  of  good  decoration  applied 
to  public  buildings  seems  in  itself  unimportant,  be- 
cause the  public  appears  quite  ready  to  grant  every- 
thing— but  it  is  only  an  appearance.  The  auditor 
replies  to  the  speaker:  “Of  course,  we  recognize  the 
importance  of  decoration  of  public  buildings.  Of 
course,  we  realize  that  the  temples  and  palaces  and 
cathedrals  shine  in  the  past  like  beacons,  and  will 
project  their  light  beyond  us  into  no  one  knows  how 
remote  a future.  Of  course,  we  feel  that  Phidias 
and  Michelangelo  and  Titian  are  names  to  conjure 
with.”  This  the  objector  representing  the  public 
will  say  readily,  and  easily,  and  perfunctorily,  having 
become  accustomed  to  say  it  through  centuries. 
But  having  glibly  stated  this  recognition  and  reali- 
zation of  the  greatness  of  the  example  of  the  past, 
he  only  too  often  cancels  his  words  by  the  indiffer- 
ence of  his  attitude. 

Frequently  the  citizen,  who  is  to  be  part  owner  of 
the  new  State  capitol  or  court-house,  having  spoken 
trippingly  of  its  importance  as  a factor  for  good, 
turns  the  whole  matter  over  to  a special  committee, 
then  thinks  no  more  of  it  at  all,  save  perhaps  to  boast 


22  IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


now  and  then  in  an  open  letter  to  the  press  of  how 
fine  the  new  court-house  or  State  house  is  going  to 
be,  and  how  much  bigger  and  better  than  the  one 
over  the  river  in  an  adjoining  State. 

And  all  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  is  a good 
citizen,  honestly  proud  of  the  development  of  his 
State,  that  the  committeeman  is  a capable  commit- 
teeman, prudent  and  eager  for  the  welfare  of  the 
commonwealth.  It  is  all  because,  when  the  matter 
in  hand  relates  to  what  we  call  art,  they  do  not  con- 
sider— they  will  not  consider.  Art,  they  think,  re- 
lates to  feeling,  and  they , the  citizens,  the  committee- 
men, many  of  them  at  least,  most  of  them  as  yet,  I 
fear,  believe  that  every  man  has  a divine  right  to 
settle  for  himself  any  question  which  relates  chiefly 
to  feeling.  They  reiterate  the  worn  phrase,  “I 
know  what  I like,’’  and  they  sit  content  while  the 
real  beauty-lover  mourns. 

Fortunately,  the  real  beauty-lover  is  adding  to 
himself  many  recruits  from  the  ranks  of  the  said 
citizens  and  committeemen.  To  every  one  of  these 
we  appeal,  and  with  their  aid  we  shall  win,  for  beauty 
put  into  concrete  form  can  work  wonders,  and  in 
the  end  convinces.  When  the  artist  is  dead  and  can 
paint  no  longer  he  begins  to  earn  great  sums  for  the 
inheritors  of  his  work.  When  the  Greek  temple  has 
become  the  product  of  a vanished  civilization  and 
unreproducible,  we  go  thousands  of  leagues  to  visit 
it.  When  we  have  recognized  that  the  fresco  is  the 


Placing  the  figures  in  a decoration  Trying  scale  with  a paper  model 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION  23 


outcome  of  an  age  and  a spirit  which  have  departed, 
and  that  we  cannot  order  its  counterpart  into  being, 
we  saw  it  from  the  wall  and  transfer  it  with  infinite 
care  to  canvas,  and  buy  it  at  a great  price  for  our 
museums. 

And  so  we  recognize  the  past,  and  forget  that  the 
present  is  the  past  of  to-morrow  and  is  worth  pro- 
viding for.  To-day’s  recognition  of  the  art  of  the 
past  is  phenomenal.  So  far  as  we  know,  such  a con- 
dition of  things  has  obtained  only  once  before.  It 
began  when  Mummius,  fresh  from  the  sack  of  Cor- 
inth, brought  back  to  Rome  chariot-loads  of  Greek 
statues  and  paintings,  battered  at  first  by  rough 
handling,  but  finally  paid  for  with  enormous  sums,  as 
the  philhellenism  of  the  Maecenases  under  the  Julians 
and  Flavians  and  Antonines  spread  from  Rome  to 
the  Rhine  and  Britain  and  covered  Italy,  Gaul,  and 
Spain  with  their  palace  museums  and  villa  museums, 
which  they  filled  with  objects  big  and  little,  either 
inherited  or  imitated  from  the  art  of  Greeks  or 
Egyptians,  foreigners  and  predecessors.  To-day  the 
researches  of  the  Morellis  and  Bodes  and  Berensons 
rival  the  antiquarian  interests  of  a Hadrian,  even 
though  they  may  not  call  archaistic  cities  into  being 
by  imperial  fiat;  and  the  amazing  collections  of  a 
group  of  American  art-lovers  recall  what  Fried- 
lander  tells  us  of  the  heaping  up  of  artistic  riches  by 
the  senatorial  families  of  ancient  Rome,  and  leave 
far  behind  the  treasures  gathered  by  such  famous 


24  IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


moderns  as  Fouquet  and  Jabach.  Fortunes  are  ex- 
pended upon  our  collections,  public  and  private. 
The  soil  of  Eastern  countries  is  literally  sifted  in 
sieves  (I  have  seen  it  done)  for  the  yield  of  tiny  ob- 
jects which  go  into  Western  museums.  The  castles 
of  Britain  and  the  Continent  prove  expugnable  as 
the  family  portraits  pass  outward  to  the  dealer;  and 
the  princes  of  the  past  seem  to  have  bred  and  fought 
in  a measure  for  the  benefit  of  the  modern  collector, 
while  the  imitation  of  old  pictures  and  treasure  of 
all  sorts  has  become  so  subtle  that  the  counterfeit 
can  be  detected  by  only  the  cleverest  of  museum  di- 
rectors, and  sometimes  will  no  more  down  than  will 
Banquo’s  ghost. 

Great  diligence,  great  intelligence,  and  great  gener- 
osity are  being  accorded  to  the  collection  and  distri- 
bution of  the  art  of  the  past.  Great  sums  of  money, 
great  rivalry,  and  great  good-will  are  given  to  the 
collection  even  of  contemporaneous  painting  and 
sculpture.  It  seems  as  if  in  modern  art  only  that 
which  goes  to  the  decoration  of  the  public  building 
has  been  (in  certain  cases  at  least)  lightly  con- 
sidered, and  such  art  should  be  to  every  one  the 
most  important  in  the  entire  modern  field. 

Public  and  municipal  art  is  a public  and  municipal 
educator.  The  decoration  of  temples  and  cathedrals 
and  town  halls  has  naturally  taught  patriotism,  mor- 
als, aesthetics,  in  a far  larger  sense  than  has  that  of 
private  palaces  or  houses,  admirable  as  the  latter  has 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION  25 

often  been.  The  passion  for  collection  is,  of  course, 
the  result  of  European  precedent;  but  the  American 
who,  even  making  allowance  for  the  fashion  of  a mo- 
ment, can  enter  so  passionately  into  rivalry  for  the 
possession  of  masterpieces  of  the  past,  will  inevitably 
advance  in  perceptiveness  as  general  culture  grows. 
Intrinsic  weight  will  establish  itself  against  the  glam- 
our of  celebrity  (for  it  must  be  admitted  that,  like 
other  amateurs,  our  collector  sometimes  buys  a great 
name  on  a poor  picture,  instead  of  a better  canvas 
with  a less  famous  signature),  and  in  time  he  who 
patronized  the  best  art  of  the  past  so  well  will  al- 
most insensibly  go  on  to  acquiring  the  best  art  of  his 
day.  When  he  does,  it  is  for  the  art  students  of  the 
rising  generation  to  see  to  it  that  some  of  the  best 
contemporaneous  art  is  in  America. 

It  is  true  that  in  our  American  art,  which  is  being 
developed,  mural  painting  is  a late  comer,  but  it  is 
a late  comer  because  of  all  the  branches  of  art  it  has 
become  the  most  complicated  in  its  organization. 
And  although  it  is  recent  with  us,  it  is  a notable  fact 
that  it  is  older  than  history — is,  indeed,  the  oldest  of 
the  arts.  To  try  to  place  one  branch  of  art  above  an- 
other would  be  to  waste  time  in  the  attempt  to  sus- 
tain an  untenable  proposition.  Decorative  painting, 
portrait-painting,  landscape-painting,  are  the  peers  of 
each  other,  and  attain  exchangeable  headship  in 
accord  with  the  temperament  and  preference  of 
those  who  practise  and  those  who  admire.  Yet  it  is 


2 6 IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


undeniable  that,  of  the  three,  decorative  painting  is 
the  oldest  and  the  most  inclusive.  Within  the  last 
twenty  years  there  has  arisen  a wide-spread  inter- 
est in  it,  and  it  has  been  celebrated  generously,  and 
praised  for  being  what  it  really  is  — one  of  the  high- 
est forms  of  artistic  expression.  Nevertheless,  there 
are  still  many  art-lovers,  and  even  some  artists, 
who  think  of  decoration  as  of  something  compara- 
tively easy  to  do,  the  occupation  of  the  man  who  is 
not  quite  big  enough  to  depend  wholly  upon  his  own 
personality,  but  who  backs  himself  by  the  resources 
of  architecture,  and  hides  his  poverty  or  weakness  of 
expression  behind  a screen  of  ornament.  There  was 
never  a greater  fallacy  than  that  which  attributes 
an  even  relatively  weak  personality  to  the  successful 
decorator,  as  I shall  hope  to  demonstrate  by  future 
argument.  Because  decoration  is  applied  to  spoon- 
handles  as  well  as  to  towers  and  domes,  the  superficial 
often  catalogue  it  hastily  as  a minor  art,  forgetting 
that  in  being  so  inclusive  it  must  also  be  enormously 
exacting. 

The  public  has  not  yet  wholly  outgrown  certain 
antiquated  notions.  Fifty  years  ago  the  “fresco- 
painter,  ” who  was  invariably  an  Italian  or  a German, 
lived  and  worked  in  the  vestibule  between  the  “storm 
door”  and  the  “front  door.”  Sculpture  at  the  same 
epoch — all  this  was  in  the  days  of  what  Mr.  Henry 
James  called  mediaeval  New  York — dwelt  in  a tray 
upon  the  head  of  a vendor,  also  an  Italian.  The  tray 


) 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION  27 


contained  plaster  lambs  and  busts  of  Washington 
and  statuettes  of  the  “Little  Samuel  Woke”  variety, 
and  it  did  not  go  up  the  “stoop”  to  the  Maecenas 
of  the  moment.  It  went  down  the  steps  to  the 
area,  and  had  to  give  the  countersign  to  Bridget  be- 
fore it  met  the  eyes  of  her  mistress.  In  one  of  John 
Leech’s  pictures,  a flunky,  with  calves  appropriate  to 
his  position,  stands  upon  the  steps  barring  the  way, 
and  says  to  the  vendor,  who  holds  out  a plaster 
Apollo  Belvedere:  “Yes,  I dessay  it’s  all  very  fine, 
but  it’s  not  my  idea  of  a figger.”  Just  so,  many  lay- 
men, and  as  I have  noted  before,  even  some  artists, 
still  say:  “Yes,  decoration  is  all  very  fine,”  but 
make  the  mental  reservation:  “It’s  not  my  idea  of 
art;  it  has  neither  frame  nor  shadow-box,  and  it  does 
not  figure  in  a catalogue.” 

In  the  main,  however,  decoration  has  met  with  a 
most  generous  recognition  on  the  part  of  both  artists 
and  public,  and  it  deserves  it;  for,  I repeat,  it  is  the 
oldest,  the  most  inclusive,  and  the  most  exacting 
of  the  arts.  It  began  with  the  cave-dweller  hacking 
bone  into  rude  suggestion  of  men  and  animals,  or 
scratching  outlines  upon  the  rock;  it  developed  into 
beauty  applied  to  utility,  and  it  culminated  as  a 
supreme  teacher,  through  the  arts,  of  patriotism, 
morals,  and  history,  in  temples  and  cathedrals 
and  town  halls.  The  greatest  artists  who  ever  lived 
have  been  the  acolytes  of  this  ministrant  decora- 
tion— Phidias,  Donatello,  Michelangelo,  Raphael, 


28  IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


Leonardo,  Correggio,  Veronese,  Rubens,  to  name 
only  a few  of  them,  were  decorator-painters  and 
decorator-sculptors. 

It  was  in  directing  the  sculptural  ensemble  of  the 
Parthenon,  in  building  up  the  great  altar  of  Padua, 
in  carrying  the  painting  from  the  domes  down  the 
pendentives  and  walls  of  Parma,  in  composing  the 
many  consecutive  or  concentric  ceiling  panels  of 
Venice,  in  covering  and  making  glorious  the  barn- 
like nakedness  of  the  plastering  to  the  Sistine  Chapel, 
that  these  protagonists  of  art  attained  to  some  of 
their  highest  flights.  They  showed  that  man  mov- 
ing easily  under  the  restraint  of  limitation,  and 
bending  the  conventionalism  of  decoration  to  the 
expression  of  his  purpose,  can  manifest  as  much  of 
power  as  man  moving  freely.  Design,  one  of  the 
very  highest  and  most  exacting  elements  of  art, 
must  be  ever  present  in  decoration,  and,  above  all,  the 
history  of  decoration  demonstrates  that  not  even 
the  most  brilliant  executant  can  lastingly  succeed  in 
it  unless  he  possess  that  power  of  tension  which  is 
given  only  to  the  healthy  in  the  arts,  as  elsewhere  in 
nature. 

The  greatest  of  artists,  then,  have  been  decorators, 
and  a high  development  of  the  special  branches  of 
decorative  painting  and  sculpture  has  been  co- 
incidental with  the  periods  during  which  the  most 
famous  schools  of  art  have  flourished.  Holland  fur- 
nishes the  only  exception,  and  even  her  exception  is  a 


Edwin  H.  Blashfield:  Trying  scale  of  figures  for 
Wisconsin  dome 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION  29 


qualified  one.  Her  rejection  of  the  doctrines  and 
forms  of  the  mother  church,  the  arch-patron,  greatly 
curtailed  the  output  of  monumental  painting  in  gen- 
eral; and  the  Dutchman  was  by  nature  a realist  pur 
sang.  One  man,  their  greatest,  Rembrandt,  was 
filled  with  the  decorative  sense,  a composer  of  love- 
liest and  also  grandest  patterns  of  light  and  shade. 
But  it  was  just  when  he  created  his  almost  magical 
picture,  the  so-called  “Night  Watch,”  that  his 
fellow-citizens  began  to  misunderstand  his  art,  and 
to  neglect  him;  and  according  to  his  biographer,  M. 
Michel,  the  canvas  which  he  frankly  undertook  as  a 
decorative  commission  was  not  a success  in  the  eyes 
of  his  contemporaries,  and  was  not  preserved  in 
its  entirety.  Nevertheless,  in  many  a composition 
of  light  and  shade,  Rembrandt  shows  as  much  feel- 
ing for  decorative  beauty  and  even  grandeur  of 
pattern  as  any  man  who  ever  lived. 

V 

Such  various  men  of  various  times  have  vibrated 
to  the  appeal  of  decorative  art  that  we  may  surely 
look  for  a response  among  our  own  people.  The 
American  spirit  is  sympathetic  toward  many  things. 
More  than  a score  of  years  ago  I went  to  Washing- 
ton with  the  first  committee  which  made  an  attempt 
to  obtain  free  importation  of  foreign  art.  We  sat 
up  nearly  all  night  in  the  sleeping-car  considering 


3o  IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


ways  and  means;  we  agreed  that  we  must  not  talk 
sentiment,  we  must  talk  economics,  appeal  to  the 
practical  American  mind  of  our  legislators,  and  show 
them  that  good  art  is  financially  desirable.  But  when 
we  reached  the  Capitol  we  found  that  it  was  pre- 
cisely sentiment  which  appealed  to  senator  and  rep- 
resentative alike.  They  patted  us  on  the  back,  and 
said:  “It  is  fine  to  find  you  young  fellows  [mind 
you  this  was  more  than  a quarter  of  a century  ago] 
asking  not  to  be  protected.”  Thus,  you  see,  sen- 
timent does  reach  the  American  legislator.  And 
for  those  who  wish  to  hear  the  other  side,  we  may 
prove  easily  enough  that  good  national  art  is  a good 
national  asset. 

To  begin  with,  art  confers  immortality.  A noble 
artistic  representation  immortalizes  the  cause  sym- 
bolized, the  thought  embodied,  the  individual  por- 
trayed. “The  bust  outlasts  the  throne,  the  coin 
Tiberius,”  is  not  merely  the  fine  phrase  of  a poet.  For 
about  the  concrete  representation  crystallizes  and 
remains  the  thought.  Not  all  Thucydides  impresses 
the  mind  of  the  average  man  as  swiftly  and  forcibly 
as  does  his  first  vision  of  the  Acropolis.  Toward  the 
monument  which  stands  for  cherished  cause  or  in- 
spired idea  or  revered  individual  the  mind  turns  in 
instinctive  patriotism,  and  if  in  the  monument  you 
find  commemoration  plus  beauty,  the  latter  quality 
gilds  the  halo  of  pre-eminence,  and  even  outlasts  it, 
since  men’s  memories  may  fade  but  their  power  for 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION  31 


visual  receptiveness  is  constant.  The  votaries  at 
the  shrine  of  patriotism  become  the  visitors  to  the 
temple  of  beauty,  and  that  beauty  holds  with  it 
still  and  always  some  memory  of  the  good  and  great 
who  are  celebrated  by  its  outward  forms. 

If  you  think  I am  becoming  too  poetical,  remember 
that  these  visiting  pilgrims  bring  throughout  the 
ages,  in  wallet  or  toga,  bosom  or  breeches  pocket, 
obolus  and  denarius  and  dollar,  which  go  into  the 
market  to  keep  things  stirring.  Let  us  pass  from  the 
waxed  tablets  of  the  guardians  of  Athene’s  temple 
to  the  ledgers  of  the  bookkeepers  of  a modern  hotel, 
and  take  the  little  city  of  Perugia  in  Italy  as  an  ex- 
ample. 

Forty  years  ago  it  was  quiet  indeed.  To-day  you 
have  big  hotels  and  ultra-modern  trolley-cars  which 
pull  straight  up  the  hill  in  twelve  minutes  the 
travellers  who  used  to  lumber  around  long  curves 
in  an  antiquated  bus.  Do  you  say  that  the  old  way 
was  the  more  picturesque?  Perhaps  I agree  with 
you,  but  we  are  talking  now  about  the  financial  ad- 
vantages of  good  art.  The  clean  hotels  are  at  least 
an  unmixed  blessing;  and  who  gave  them,  who  made 
the  town  cleaner  and  more  prosperous  than  it  had 
been  for  four  hundred  years?  The  hotel-keepers 
whose  money  has  come  from  the  visitors  to  the 
famous  frescoes  in  the  Sala  del  Cambio , the  Hall  of 
the  Exchange,  and  to  the  sculptures  of  the  great 
fountain  on  the  square.  The  prosperity  of  Perugia 


32  IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


has  come  straight  off  the  palette  of  Perugino,  and 
the  marble  dust  from  the  chisel  of  Giovanni  Pisano 
has  turned  to  gold  dust  and  coin.  Has  any  Fouquet 
or  Colbert,  any  minister  of  finance  in  France  greatly 
excelled  our  lady,  the  Venus  of  Milo,  as  a bringer  of 
revenue?  Imagine  the  sums  which  have  been  paid 
for  casts,  engravings,  photographs,  printed  books 
and  pamphlets  about  her  goddesship,  and  add  to 
these  the  money  given  to  steamer,  railway,  and  hotel 
by  those  to  whom  her  presence  in  Paris  was  one  of  the 
most  powerful  magnets  which  drew  them  thither.  And 
as  is  Paris,  so  are  other  capitals;  and  as  is  Perugia, 
so  are  fifty  other  Italian  towns;  and  as  they  are,  so 
are  Washington,  Boston,  and  St.  Paul  beginning  to 
be.  Ask  the  doorkeepers  of  the  Library  of  Congress, 
the  Public  Library  of  Boston,  the  State  Capitol  of 
St.  Paul,  how  many  visitors  pour  into  their  buildings 
on  holidays,  and  even  on  week-days. 

It  is  perhaps  a low  plane,  this  of  the  consideration 
of  the  money  value  to  hotel-keeper  and  shopman 
and  railway  of  the  visiting  tourist;  but  its  corollary 
is  upon  a higher  plane,  and  is  a better  support  to  our 
contention  which  is  for  the  stimulus  and  education 
returned  to  that  same  visitor  as  a thousandfold  the 
equivalent  of  his  money.  If  the  chronicles  of  France, 
and  Germany,  and  Italy  inspire  the  citizens  of  those 
lands  to  patriotism,  the  eyes  of  the  citizens — and, 
through  their  eyes,  their  hearts  and  minds — are  even 
more  quickly  caught  by  the  sculptured  or  painted 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION  33 


figures  of  the  heroes  of  the  chronicles.  The  French- 
man who  hears  the  word  Austerlitz  sees  before  his 
mental  vision  the  little  man  in  the  gray  overcoat 
and  three-cornered  hat,  the  Napoleon  of  Raffet  or 
Charlet.  The  descendants  of  the  soldiers  of  the  great 
Frederick  see  Alter  Fritz  in  powder  and  pigtail  in 
the  pictures  of  Menzel.  We  Americans  know  Lin- 
coln in  the  sculpture  of  St.  Gaudens  or  French,  or 
Washington  as  Houdon  and  Stuart  saw  him;  even 
the  theatrically  improbable  Washington  crossing  the 
Delaware  is  not  without  his  uses  to  those  who  meet 
him  in  Leutze’s  picture. 

Minor  men  are  immortalized  if  the  muse  of  the 
sculptor’s  art  lay  her  hand  upon  their  shoulder. 
Gattamelata  and  Colleone  were  after  all  only  hired 
captains,  though  among  the  best  of  the  generals  of 
the  Italian  Renaissance.  They  would  have  been  for- 
gotten fifty  times  over  had  they  been  emphasized  by 
nothing  beyond  their  personal  worth,  but  to-day  their 
names  are  known  to  the  cultured  of  every  country, 
their  physical  presentment  to  the  artists  of  every 
land,  because  four  hundred  years  ago  they  were 
horsed  and  harnessed  by  great  sculptors  and  set  on 
high  as  unfading  memories. 

As  you  walk  the  streets  of  Paris  to-day  among 
hurrying  men  and  women,  at  every  thousand  feet 
or  so  there  crosses  your  path  the  shadow  of  a figure 
which  is  not  hurrying  but  still,  and  which  is  above 
you — pedestalled!  You  look  up  and  add  to  the 


34  IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


picture  which  has  passed  before  your  eyes  and 
through  your  mind,  of  sculptured  or  painted  moni- 
tors, martyrs  to  principle,  or  defenders  of  the  land — 
men  who  have  fought  with  hands  and  head  for  their 
country;  who  have  printed  books  and  burned  at  the 
stake  for  the  principles  which  those  books  enunci- 
ated; who  have  struggled  to  save  the  commonwealth, 
and  died  under  the  guillotine  for  their  service;  who 
have  taught  the  blind,  or  led  the  keenest-sighted; 
who  have  analyzed,  painted,  written,  manufactured 
— who,  in  a word,  have  helped  in  the  past  and  to- 
day, thanks  to  art,  are  still  helping  every  thoughtful 
on-looker. 

Assuredly,  then,  the  importance  of  art,  which  is  the 
subject,  in  its  widest  sense,  of  this  chapter,  has  al- 
ways been  demonstrated  by  our  reason,  our  emo- 
tions, even  our  instincts.  As  aboriginal  savages  we 
instinctively  decorated  our  bodies.  Childhood  in  the 
race  resembles  the  childhood  of  the  individual  human 
animal,  which  loves  bright-colored  objects  of  any 
kind,  and  this  primeval  impulse  to  decorate  our- 
selves is  so  mighty  that  it  has  proved  one  of  the 
bases  of  commerce  throughout  the  ages.  Man  him- 
self has  been  first  subject  of  his  own  arts,  and  woman, 
probably  as  docile  to  receive,  has  been  even  more 
lastingly  subjective.  A delightful  prototype  is  An- 
atole  France’s  girl  in  “L’lle  des  Pingouins,”  a book 
in  which  the  aboriginal  inhabitants  of  the  island  go 
about  in  artless  nakedness.  Captured  running  upon 


Travelling  scaffold  used  at  the  Library  of  Congress 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION  35 


the  beach,  the  girl  is  dressed  by  the  progressive  saint, 
who  has  brought  silks  and  satins  to  the  Pingouins. 
At  first  she  struggles  like  a snared  wild  beast,  then 
as  the  gown  begins  to  work  its  spell,  and  as  the 
saint  commences  to  lace  her  up,  she  looks  over  her 
shoulder  and,  critically  surveying  her  waist,  says: 
“You  may  pull  it  in  a little  tighter  still.” 

With  the  peoples  of  antiquity,  particularly  of 
Greek  antiquity,  it  was  something  the  same  as  with 
Anatole  France’s  girl.  They  were  natural  beauty- 
lovers  and  they  wanted  to  make  beauty  a part  of 
everything!  Athens,  even  while  she  held  the  head- 
ship of  the  antique  world,  spent  more  money  upon 
her  art  than  upon  her  wars;  and  when  it  came  to 
taxing  the  people  to  pay  for  Athene’s  peplos — to  a 
question  of  beauty  and  art,  in  short — the  Athenian 
taxpayer  said,  like  the  Penguin  girl:  “You  may 
squeeze  me  a little  tighter  still.”  They  loved  the 
arts  so  ardently,  the  ancients,  that  they  made  the 
features  of  their  beloved  immortal. 

“The  face  that  launched  a thousand  ships 
And  burnt  the  topless  towers  of  Ilion  ” 

is  still  the  prototype  of  imperishable  loveliness,  and 
this  earliest  sung  of  beauties  was  potential  after 
more  than  two  thousand  years  to  kindle  poetic  fire 
in  an  Elizabethan  age,  second  only,  if  second  at  all, 
in  brightness  to  that  of  Homeric  times. 


36  IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


If  instinct  impelled  man  toward  the  arts,  our 
reason  and  our  emotions,  hand  in  hand,  lengthened 
and  strengthened  the  chain  of  masterpieces.  Some- 
times, as  in  the  Parthenon,  reason  shone  brightest; 
again,  at  Karnak  or  in  the  cathedrals  emotion  beck- 
oned us  more  compellingly  into  the  mystery  of  the 
groves  of  stone  and  the  jewelled  light.  But  always 
in  the  past,  whether  exerting  its  force  emotionally 
or  rationally,  art  was  a mighty  power;  and  to-day, 
in  spite  of  our  diversion  toward  the  path  of  her  sister, 
science,  we  shall  find,  if  we  try  to  retrace  it  in  thought 
and  study,  that  the  roadway  which  leads  down  to  us 
from  Attic  Athens  or  Tuscan  Florence  may  be  fol- 
lowed step  by  step.  It  is  less  clearly  marked  here 
and  there,  but  it  is  continuous;  in  the  long  chain 
not  one  link  is  broken.  Art  is  a Jacob’s  ladder 
of  angels.  The  masters,  the  Michelangelos  and 
Rembrandts  and  Velasquezes,  come  down  to  us  in  a 
glory  so  great  that  they  dazzle  us  a bit,  then  go  up 
again  into  heaven,  where  they  belong;  but  we  may, 
any  of  us,  crowd  about  the  foot  of  the  ladder  and  look 
through  the  crevices  of  the  clouds  till  at  least  a little 
of  the  radiance  comes  out  and  warms  us.  And  if  we 
look  with  honest  eyes,  devoid  of  affectation  or  in- 
sincerity, we  may  see  many  things,  and  may  fall 
in  love,  each  of  us  in  his  own  fashion.  One  of  us 
may  love  the  broad  mastery  of  Greek  modelling, 
another  the  delicacy  of  the  Florentine  primitives. 
Velasquez’s  flat  gray  planes  or  Titian’s  winy  reds  and 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION  37 


tawny  browns  are  there  for  whoever  chooses  them; 
and  one  may  pass  from  the  nervous,  vigorous,  as- 
sured breadth  of  Frans  Hals  to  the  quiet,  smooth,  as- 
sured breadth  of  a Van  Eyck  interior.  We  may 
stand  ringed  around  by  miracles,  all  different,  yet 
each  in  its  way  a well-nigh  perfect  example  of  the 
art  of  the  past,  and  learn  from  it  to  practise  the  art 
of  the  present,  which,  as  our  art,  to-morrow  again 
will  become  that  of  the  past. 

All  these  things  I have  said  before,  and  shall  say 
again  and  again,  for  the  public  consciousness,  sen- 
sitive to  many  things,  is  dull  to  others;  and  if  I had 
to  raise  a statue  to  the  typical  promoter,  whether  of 
matters  spiritual  or  material,  I would  make  him  a 
god  Thor,  and  gird  him  with  his  weapon  to  hammer, 
hammer,  hammer,  again  and  again  in  the  same  place. 

And  he  would  be  no  serene  god,  no  deified 
Harmonious  Blacksmith,  but  a striker  of  discords. 
First,  and  longest,  and  hardest,  he  would  smite  in 
beating  out  from  the  amorphousness  of  our  indiffer- 
ence a conviction — the  conviction  of  the  impor- 
tance of  public  art — that  it  should  be  at  least  as 
good  as  the  very  best,  because  placed  the  most  con- 
spicuously, and  therefore  of  all  art  that  most  likely 
to  impress  and  teach  the  people. 

Next,  he  would  have  to  strike  long  and  hard  in 
emphasis  of  the  importance  of  harmony,  the  mutual- 
ity of  architect,  sculptor,  and  painter  in  any  decora- 
tive undertaking,  to  strike  until  he  had  welded  the 


38  IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION 


three  into  one  ingot  and  fashioned  from  it  a weapon 
ten  times  as  tempered  to  its  purpose  as  it  ever  could 
have  been  in  the  personality  of  any  one  of  these 
artists  divided  from  their  trinity.  Divided,  the 
architect,  sculptor,  and  painter,  however  sincere, 
would  hinder  each  other  in  the  production  of  a great 
building;  united,  they  are  all-powerful.  The  Thor’s 
hammer  has  turned  the  ingot  into  a battering  ram 
which  can  level  everything  that  interferes  with  the 
desired  result. 

The  next  thing  to  be  placed  on  the  anvil  should 
be  fashioned  into  a symbol  of  the  importance  of 
experience  in  the  decorative  artist,  not  the  mural 
painter  alone,  for  I am  no  longer  separating  him 
from  architect  and  painter,  but  the  decorative  art- 
ist, architect,  sculptor,  or  painter. 

Talent  is  common  to  all  real  artists,  and  to  no  artist 
is  all-round  talent  and  culture  more  needful  than 
to  the  decorator;  but  upon  one  side,  and  that  a very 
widely  embracing  and  very  exacting  one,  the  dec- 
orator is  perforce  a specialist.  Experience,  reiter- 
ated and  hard-bought  experience,  is  absolutely  nec- 
essary to  him,  and  in  no  wise  is  the  lengthening 
repetition  of  hammer  strokes  more  typical  than  it  is 
of  this  continuity  of  effort,  this  long  succession,  now 
of  essay,  now  of  blunder,  now  of  half  success,  fusing 
at  last  into  a harmonious  result,  triumphant  and 
perfect. 

If  our  Thor  has  driven  deeply  into  the  public 


IMPORTANCE  OF  DECORATION  39 


mind  the  conviction  of  these  three  things:  that  public 
art  shall  be  of  the  best,  that  there  shall  be  harmony 
between  architect,  sculptor,  and  painter,  and  that 
not  only  talent  but  past  experience  shall  be  demanded 
from  all  three,  the  rest  is  a matter  of  detail. 


II 

HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING  COM- 
MISSIONER AND  ARCHITECT 


II 


HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING  COM- 
MISSIONER AND  ARCHITECT 

I 

We  have  seen  that  the  intrinsic  importance  of  dec- 
oration has  been  attested  completely  and  lastingly 
in  a line  of  world-famous  buildings  reaching  from 
Egypt  and  Greece  eastward  across  Asia  and  west- 
ward over  Europe,  and  binding  the  age  of  the  pyra- 
mid-builders to  our  own  by  an  unbroken  chain.  If 
we  consider  its  importance  in  our  own  times,  and 
discuss  the  relation  of  decoration  in  general  and 
decorative  painting  in  particular  to  our  modern 
needs  and  practices,  we  soon  realize  that,  although 
the  importance  of  good  decoration  is  patent  through- 
out history,  the  eyes  of  the  average  man  to-day  are 
not  open  to  it— above  all,  are  not  open  to  the  fact 
that  it  can  exist  only  through  harmony  between 
those  who  create  it,  and  that  this  harmony  must  be 
bought  at  the  price  of  experience,  good-will,  and 
money. 

It  is  difficult  to  divide  a consideration  of  decora- 


43 


44  HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 


tion  into  chapters,  and  especially  in  considering 
this  same  harmony,  experience,  and  practice,  for 
they  are  inextricably  bound  together.  Experience 
and  experiment,  indeed,  are  like  the  children’s  game 
of  laying  hands  one  upon  another,  and  making  re- 
peated withdrawals  of  the  under  hand  to  place  it 
again  on  top  of  the  pile.  Experiment  breeds  ex- 
perience, which  must  again  draw  upon  experiment 
for  further  procedure  in  order  to  assure  harmony 
in  practice,  and  thus  you  have  continuous  inter- 
relation and  interdependence. 

Consideration  of  harmony  between  the  public,  the 
architect,  and  the  mural  painter  must,  as  far  as  may 
be  in  these  chapters,  cover  the  points  which  make 
it  difficult,  though  possible,  for  the  creators  of  the 
public  building  to  be  harmonious.  The  difficulties 
may  be  roughly  divided  into  those  relating  to  choice 
of  creative  and  executive  artists  (through  competi- 
tion or  appointment)  to  the  misconceptions  arising 
between  the  building  commissioner  and  the  archi- 
tect, between  the  building  commissioner  and  the 
mural  painter,  between  the  architect  and  the  mural 
painter,  between  various  mural  painters  working 
together. 

To-day  when  we  build  a State  capitol  or  a great 
court-house  the  enterprise  is  chronicled  as  an  event; 
a deal  of  paper  is  covered  with  print  to  tell  us  that 
such  and  such  a thing  costs  so  much  more  or  less 


CJ 


<u 

a 

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<u 

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<u 

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w 


the  State  Capitol  of  Pennsylvania,  Harrisburg 


COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT  45 


than  was  expected;  # that  So-and-so,  the  expert,  has 
expressed  this,  that,  and  the  other  view  regarding 
the  excellence  of  the  result  to  be  obtained,  and  that  in 
a general  way  this  palace  of  the  people  is  to  combine 
first-rate  practicality  with  artistic  magnificence  of 
the  highest  order.  We  are  led  to  understand,  in- 
deed we  lead  ourselves  to  understand,  that  our  ap- 
preciation of  the  situation  reaches  the  level  of  its 
intrinsic  importance. 

We  are  vastly  mistaken.  It  does  not  attain  that 
level.  It  is  all  well,  or  much  of  it  well  as  far  as  it 
goes,  but  it  does  not  go  far  enough.  Our  architects 
are  able,  sincere,  enthusiastic,  and  hard-working. 
They  stand  ready  to  serve  us  admirably;  but  we,  the 
public,  do  not  strengthen  their  hands  as  we  should, 
because  we  do  not  appreciate  the  importance  of 
what  they  create  for  us.  It  is  of  quite  transcendent 
importance.  The  public  buildings  are  the  houses 
of  the  people,  and  whether  cathedral,  temple,  court- 
house, capitol,  or  city  hall,  these  houses  in  the 
past  have  been  landmarks  of  progress  which  have 
lasted  as  long  as  printed  and  written  records.  They 
have  been  beacons  in  history  which  have  outlasted 
the  splendor  of  the  dynasties  that  lighted  them. 
Each  one  of  these  buildings  has  been  the  house  of 
God  and  of  the  people  as  well,  for  each  has  been 
raised  to  enshrine  the  workings  of  the  law,  to  sym- 
bolize aspiration,  to  evidence  outward  beauty,  to 
stand  for  the  attributes  of  deity.  Such  a building 


46  HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 


is  the  very  ark  of  the  covenant,  and  its  creation 
means  such  potentiality  for  instruction  and  edifica- 
tion that  the  man  in  the  street  has  by  no  means 
fulfilled  his  duty  in  voting  appropriations  for  its 
construction,  and  then  turning  his  back  upon  it  with 
little  thought  save  a recommendation  that  there 
shall  not  be  undue  waste.  For  such  a house  there 
should  be  rather  largess  than  economy;  and  it  is 
pathetic  that  in  a case  where  the  very  best  of  the 
best  is  needed,  and  may  be  made  imperishable  in 
stone  and  bronze  and  mosaic,  to  become  a teacher 
for  millennial,  a concrete  realization  of  beauty,  the 
property  of  every  man  rich  and  poor — it  is  pathetic, 
it  is  deplorable  indeed,  that  our  first  thought  should 
be  to  recommend  that  it  shall  not  cost  too  much. 

If  the  economy  suggested  meant  expenditure 
otherwise  and  better  applied,  the  saving  would  be 
worth  while.  But  few  objects  are  as  worthy,  and 
why  not  spend  lavishly  on  the  creation  of  a public 
building?  To  begin  with,  it  is  yours  and  mine — we 
are  expending  upon  our  own;  next,  it  is  a place  of 
pilgrimage  for  the  visitor;  its  beauty  will  enhance 
our  credit  abroad  as  well  as  educate  our  children  at 
home. 

As  was  said  in  the  last  chapter,  beauty  is  a tre- 
mendous commercial  asset;  yet  when  the  ground  and 
the  stone  and  the  steel  have  been  paid  for  with  mil- 
lions, and  the  architect  goes  to  the  building  commis- 
sioners for  money,  for  his  ornament,  his  sculpture,  and 


COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT  47 


painting,  and  mosaic,  and  glass,  how  do  they  reply  to 
him?  He  says:  “To  make  this  room  as  beautiful  as 
I desire  I must  have  twenty-five  thousand  dollars.” 
They  answer:  “If  you  ask  for  such  a sum  as  that, 
the  legislature  will  not  listen  to  you  for  a moment; 
we  will  propose  ten  thousand  dollars;  there  has  been 
waste  in  many  directions;  if  you  wish  to  get  anything 
at  all  you  must  show  them  that  you  intend  to  prac- 
tise economy — and  here  is  our  opportunity  to  prac- 
tise it  since  art  is  a superfluity.  ” In  other  words, 
the  architect  declares:  “We  need  a room  which 
shall  be  an  example  of  beauty  of  the  first  order.” 
The  legislators  reply:  “Spend  half  the  money,  and 
make  something  as  good  as  you  can.”  And  so  the 
enterprise  is  crippled,  and  two  hundred  years  later, 
perhaps,  the  visitor  looks  indifferently  at  a char- 
acterless room  which  might  have  become  famous 
and  been  instructive  through  all  that  lapse  of  time 
had  not  the  legislature  been  convinced  that  art  was 
the  one  superfluity  which  offered  opportunity  for 
the  cutting  down  of  budgets. 

“Before  our  cities  are  beautiful  they  must  be 
clean”  is  used  as  a knock-down  argument  against 
him  who  asks  money  for  embellishment.  And  what 
on  earth  has  that  to  do  with  the  question  ? Of  course, 
our  cities  should  be  clean.  What  is  there  in  clean- 
ness that  interferes  with  beauty,  and  why  should 
the  money  which  pays  for  cleaning  be  taken  from 
that  which  pays  for  ornamenting?  As  well  say:  a 


48  HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 


man  should  be  honest  before  he  is  cultivated.  Is 
culture  any  hindrance  to  honesty,  and  may  a man  not 
spend  some  money  upon  his  intellectual  cravings 
without  picking  his  neighbor’s  pocket? 

Enough  is  given  for  tawdry  so-called  ornament  to 
pay  for  much  real  beauty,  and  upon  this  kind  of 
ornament  the  average  voter  is  apt  to  insist.  With- 
out it,  he  declares  that  the  room  looks  bare  and  lacks 
the  suggestion  of  comfort  to  which  he  is  accustomed 
and  entitled.  But  if  you  say  to  him,  pay  a man  to 
think , to  so  formulate  and  distribute  the  ornament 
that  it  shall  create  beauty  of  a high  order,  the  “prac- 
tical” man  objects:  “You  wish  me  to  pay  an 
expert?  I have  no  money  left  for  that;  it  has  all 
gone  to  the  experts  whom  we  had  to  have,  the  men 
who  laid  our  pipes  and  attended  to  our  needs,”  and 
there  is  the  whole  argument  begun  again  ah  ovo. 
We  need  an  expert  to  regulate  an  arrangement  which 
enables  us,  for  instance,  to  accomplish  some  par- 
ticular business  act  in  ten  minutes  instead  of  fifteen, 
but  we  do  not  need  the  beauty  which  has  made  the 
joy  of  centuries  of  past  times.  “Pay  me  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars,”  says  one  man,  “and  I will  contrive  an 
improvement  in  the  public  service  by  which  your 
advertisements  shall  reach  twice  as  many  people.” 
“You  shall  have  your  fifty  thousand  at  once  as  a 
public  benefactor.”  “Give  me  fifty  thousand  dol- 
lars,” says  the  architect,  “and  I will  make  your 
room  beautiful.”  “Visionary!”  replies  the  legislator; 


From  a photograph,  copyright  1Q08,  by  Detroit  Publishing  Co. 

John  W.  Alexander:  “The  Crowning  of  Pittsburg.”  The  main  panel 
in  the  Apotheosis  of  Pittsburg,  Carnegie  Institute 


COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT  49 


“can  you  not  understand  that  this  is  the  moment  for 
economy?”  And  cannot  the  legislator  understand 
that  if  we  follow  such  reasoning,  public  art  must  be 
abolished,  since  there  is  and  can  be  no  end  to  the 
possibility  of  expenditure  upon  practical  improve- 
ments? In  the  past  the  service  of  beauty  was  the 
service  of  God;  have  we  progressed  so  far  that  the 
service  of  beauty  is  now  the  robbery  of  man?  One 
would  think  so. 

The  tendency  of  the  average  modern  individual 
is  to  assume  the  following  attitude  toward  art:  Art 
is  a word  applicable  to  things  produced  in  the  past, 
many  of  which  exist  still  as  purchasable  commodities. 
If  a man  is  rich  enough  he  will  do  well  to  buy  them. 
Their  possession  confers  prestige.  Indeed,  some  of 
them  now  command  such  enormous  prices  that  to 
own  one  is  almost  as  creditable  as  having  a patent 
of  nobility,  and  makes  a man  the  successful  rival  of 
any  of  his  fellows.  He  may,  as  it  were,  wear  a sur- 
passing Rembrandt  in  his  collection,  just  as  a woman 
outvies  her  friends  in  her  own  pearls  and  laces.  If 
he  be  truly  public-spirited  he  will  put  some  of  this 
art  of  the  past  upon  show,  will  in  a way  lay  it  on  the 
shelf  of  a museum,  label  and  give  it  to  the  common- 
wealth. 

Do  not  believe  for  a moment  that  I am  speaking 
lightly  of  the  collector;  those  collectors,  who  think 
and  plan  for  our  museums  as  well  as  for  their  private 
galleries,  are  our  great  and  lasting  benefactors,  and  I 


50  HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 


believe  that  they  in  turn  get  some  of  their  truest 
happiness  from  their  art  treasures.  And  it  is  small 
wonder  that  they  should;  for  my  part  I can  hardly 
imagine  a keener  pleasure  than  that  of  going  into 
one’s  own  sanctum,  and  there  before  one’s  own  pos- 
session, looking  into  the  clear  exquisite  depths  of  a 
panel  painted  by  a great  Flemish  primitive  master 
or  some  other  work  perfect  of  its  kind.  If  I could 
own  it  I would  wear  such  a possession  in  my  cap, 
and  in  my  heart  at  once,  and  would  go  down  on  my 
knees  before  it  in  thanks  to  the  goddess  Fortune. 
Yes,  the  great  collector  is  not  only  a benefactor  but 
a happy  man;  and  even  the  perfunctory  collector 
who  buys  because  it  is  the  thing  to  do  so,  is  perhaps 
by  way  (as  the  English  put  it)  of  becoming  happy, 
for  in  time  his  pictures  lure  him  onward  to  more 
and  better  appreciation.  Said  an  American  friend 
twenty  years  ago  in  Florence:  “It  doesn’t  do  to 
look  too  much  at  these  old  Botticellis  and  Filippo 
Lippis,  for  if  you  do,  don’t  you  know,  you  get  to 
like  them.” 

And  so  it  is  not  of  the  real  collector  that  I speak, 
but  of  the  average  man  who  has  not  yet  looked  “too 
much  at  the  old  Botticellis,”  but  enjoys  his  art  vi- 
cariously and  buys  upon  somebody  else’s  appraisal. 
When  he  is  made  building  commissioner,  how- 
ever, for  the  court  or  State  house,  being  a good 
citizen  and  conscientious  according  to  his  lights,  he 
remembers  that  art  is  a big  word,  and  he  takes  cer- 


COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT  51 


tain  respectful  precautions.  These  go  as  far  as 
having  Mr.  Blank,  who  is  “ artistic  in  his  tastes,” 
made  a member  of  the  commission;  sometimes  they 
go  even  further — so  far,  indeed,  as  to  let  a little  con- 
sideration for  beauty  fall  upon  the  proceedings 
wherever  it  may  not  cost  too  much  or  interfere  with 
the  realities  of  life  and  “the  necessities  of  the  situ- 
ation.” 

And  here  I must  apologize  to  the  building  com- 
missioner, and  state  his  side  of  the  case.  I am  speak- 
ing of  him  now  in  his  beginnings.  He  is  confronted 
with  something  wholly  new  to  him,  and  he  under- 
estimates it;  but  he  is  an  intelligent  man,  and  as  the 
enterprise  grows  he  grows  with  it.  The  power  of 
such  a situation  for  teaching  is  great,  and  I know  of 
no  more  interesting  process  of  education  than  that  of 
the  building  commissioners  of  the  Capitol  in  a certain 
great  Western  State.  They  began  with  doubt  and 
suspicion,  but,  led  by  tact  and  wisdom  on  the  part  of 
their  architect,  and  supported  by  their  own  intel- 
ligence and  sincerity,  they  ended  in  enthusiastic 
realization  of  success  deserved  and  achieved.  I 
believe  that  their  path  is  being  followed  by  other 
commissioners,  and  usually  much  in  the  measure  of 
the  importance  and  therefore  of  the  steadying  effect 
of  the  enterprise. 

We  have,  then,  as  our  situation  for  discussion,  the 
need  in  a special  case  for  the  creation  of  a fine  public 
building.  For  material  which  is  to  bring  about  an 


52  HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 


adequate  meeting  of  the  need,  we  have  on  one  side 
the  architect,  sculptor,  and  painter,  who  may  become 
the  direct  makers  of  the  monument;  on  the  other 
side,  the  public,  for  which  the  work  is  to  be  done;  and 
as  representing  the  public  we  have  the  building  com- 
missioners, who  are  to  initiate  the  undertaking, 
choose  the  creative  body,  make  provision  for  the 
enterprise,  and  finally  approve  it.  The  architect, 
sculptor,  and  painter  are  naturally  eager  and  en- 
thusiastic; also  they  are  specially  trained,  and  their 
attention  is  focalized  first  of  all  upon  endowing  the 
building  with  beauty  of  an  appropriate  character, 
although  the  architect  will  also  control  a staff  of 
men  expert  as  to  practical  needs.  The  building 
commissioners,  too,  are  eager  and  enthusiastic;  they 
are  not  specially  trained  as  regards  art,  but  their 
general  experience  is  great,  and  it  will  naturally 
incline  them  in  the  direction  of  the  practical  side. 

This  is  quite  as  it  should  be  up  to  a certain  point, 
blit  it  is  just  beyond  that  point  that  the  artist’s 
trouble  begins.  The  building  commissioner  knows 
much  of  the  practical,  little  of  the  artistic,  side.  He 
should,  therefore,  study  especially,  and  allow  par- 
ticularly for,  the  questions  regarding  which  he  is 
relatively  ignorant.  But  usually  the  exact  reverse 
obtains.  He  has  under  him  artist  experts  and  prac- 
tical experts:  on  one  side  the  men  who  control  the 
scale,  proportion,  form,  and  color;  on  the  other, 
those  who  plan  the  lighting,  heating,  plumbing,  etc. 


COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT  53 


With  the  latter  the  building  commissioner  works 
sympathetically  and  understanding^,  but  when  he 
comes  to  the  artists,  he  selects  the  best  men  he  knows 
of,  and  then  with  the  honestest  purpose  sets  them 
adrift.  You  say:  “But  is  not  this  ideal — to  be  let 
alone  with  your  thoughts?”  The  reply  is:  “It 
would  be,  if  the  embodiment  of  thoughts  in  stone 
and  marble  and  color  didn’t  have  to  be  paid  for. 
The  building  commissioner  is  by  no  means  ungener- 
ous, and  he  means  to  be  just;  but  when  he  comes  to 
the  question  of  details  in  appropriations  for  art  he 
is  puzzled.” 

The  elasticity  of  his  estimates  is  a stock  subject 
for  joking  between  the  artist  and  his  client — by 
artist,  I mean  architect,  painter,  or  sculptor.  But 
this  elasticity  is  inevitable  unless  the  artist  begins 
by  overcharging  his  client  sufficiently  to  leave  him- 
self a margin  for  unsuccessful  experiment,  for  the 
artist’s  experiments  are  all  made  in  process  of  the 
work,  whereas  the  manufacturer’s  are  concluded 
before  the  goods  are  ordered  of  him.  You  shrug  your 
shoulders.  I could  prove  my  point  to  you  a hundred 
times  during  the  decoration  of  a great  building,  and 
I hope  to  convince  you  in  a measure  in  the  course  of 
these  chapters. 

The  building  commissioner  thoroughly  under- 
stands the  man  who  puts  in  the  wires  or  the  lighting, 
but  the  artist  and  he  speak  different  languages.  If 
he  orders  the  tiling  for  a floor,  the  manufacturer, 


54  HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 


after  measuring  the  space,  can  tell  him  to  a dollar 
what  the  material  and  the  work  will  cost;  but  if  it 
is  a question  of  the  coloring  and  general  decoration 
of  the  walls  and  ceiling  of  the  same  room,  and  the 
best  possible  result  is  required,  no  human  being  can 
say  just  what  it  should  cost,  because  this  is  a matter 
of  feeling  which  may  require  repeated  experiment. 
When  McKim  was  decorating  the  University  Club 
in  New  York,  he  did  certain  pieces  of  work  over 
many  times  until  the  result  satisfied  him.  McKim, 
besides  being  a great  artist,  had  the  resources  of  a 
long-established  house  behind  him,  but  the  young 
artist  whose  purse  is  not  deep  must  curtail  his  experi- 
ment or  suffer  loss;  and  the  client,  unless  he  be  a 
man  of  quite  exceptional  breadth  of  vision,  will  sus- 
pect what  he  cannot  understand,  and  will  watch  the 
budget  jealously.  Sometimes,  truly,  the  converse 
obtains,  and  the  architect  for  artistic  reasons  wishes 
to  use  a cheaper  marble  than  that  proposed  by  the 
commissioners.  This  has  happened  more  than  once, 
and  not  a little  to  the  surprise  of  the  parties  of  the 
first  part. 

The  members  of  our  local  committees  and  of  our 
national  committees  are  sincere — not  a doubt  of  it 
— and  the  local  patriotism  which  says,  give  us  for 
our  public  building  the  local  marble — our  marble — • 
as  a sentiment  is  irreproachable;  but  if  that  marble 
once  placed  clashes  with  its  surroundings  and  spoils 
the  architect’s  music,  not  all  the  patriotism  in 


Hugo  Ballin:  Centre  ceiling  panel  in  a room  of  the  State  Capitol, 
Madison,  Wis. 


COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT  55 


county,  State  or  nation  will  completely  deaden 
the  shock  which  its  presence  brings  in  a dissonance 
of  color  to  the  trained  eye,  because  that  shock 
proceeds  from  the  cultivation  of  another  kind  of 
sense,  and  arises,  not  only  from  feeling,  but  from 
knowledge — knowledge  which  it  is  the  expert  pro- 
fessional^ business  to  use  as  a sword  to  parry  the 
assault  of  the  enthusiastic,  if  mistaken,  local  patriot. 
Or,  if  the  contrary  obtains,  as  I believe  it  does  more 
often,  if  the  exotic  appeal  of  the  white  marble  of 
Carrara,  or  the  glitter  of  Algerian  onyx,  with  its 
prestige  of  greater  cost,  moves  even  a taxpayers’ 
committee,  then  from  no  one  can  come  more  grace- 
fully than  from  the  experts  the  suggestion,  “Are  not 
Abana  and  Pharpar  waters  of  Damascus?” — the  pa- 
triotic admonition  to  take  for  the  public  building 
the  perhaps  more  harmonious  marble  which  lies  in 
the  vein  under  the  soil  at  that  same  public  building’s 
very  foundations. 

I wish  I could  bring  this  constant  need  of  expert 
advice  home  to  the  intelligent,  for  in  most  cases  it 
does  not  really  reach  them.  They  answer:  “Yes, 
yes,  you  are  right;  united  effort,  wisely  directed, 
is  essential  to  harmony.  You  shall  have  a free  hand.” 
They  say  this  and  believe  it.  They  are  perfectly 
sincere,  but  the  building  rises,  the  reliefs  and  statues 
begin  to  take  their  place;  mosaic  and  painted  dec- 
oration begin  to  cover  the  walls.  All  at  once  some 
one,  not  an  artist,  has  an  idea — it  may  be  a very 


56  HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 


good  idea,  and  assuredly  sincere  in  its  conception: 
“For  utilitarian  reasons  we  must  enlarge  such  a 
room;  for  reasons  of  local  patriotism  we  must 
change  our  columns  or  pilasters  to  a marble  of  quite 
another  color  (a  color  never  contemplated  by  the 
designer) ; we  desire  to  illustrate  some  point  of  local 
pride  and  the  mural  painter  must  introduce  into 
his  carefully  composed  arrangement  this  new  thing.” 
Straightway  the  building  as  an  aesthetic  concep- 
tion totters,  as  it  were,  upon  its  base,  and,  unless  you 
have  authoritative  dicta  from  the  men  who  know, 
the  men  of  new  ideas  will  so  prevail  with  the  public 
that  the  beauty  of  the  result  will  be  seriously  im- 
paired, if  not  destroyed. 

And  after  this  beauty  has  been  impaired,  the  public 
says:  “Why  did  they  bungle?  They  had  an  advisory 
committee  of  artists,  who  ought  to  have  known 
better.”  But  an  advisory  committee  can  only  advise. 
It  has  no  other  power,  and  the  rejection  of  advice 
upon  one  point  may  throw  all  the  other  parts  out  of 
harmony.  It  is  true  that  afterthoughts  must  come, 
and  must  be  acted  upon  in  some  way  in  all  great 
enterprises.  But  the  business  of  the  building  com- 
mission is  to  minimize  at  the  start  the  number  and 
importance  of  possible  afterthoughts,  and  later  to 
deal  with  them  wisely. 

In  the  first  instance,  lay  directors  and  artist  di- 
rectors may  confer  with  infinite  advantage;  in  the 
second,  wise  interference  is  hardly  possible  save  to 


COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT  57 


the  professional  artist.  The  lay  director  can  always 
make  it  clear  to  the  artist  director  that  there  must 
be  seating  room,  say,  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  more 
people;  that  is  a simple  proposition,  plain  to  any 
intelligent  man.  But  the  artist  cannot  always  make 
it  clear  to  the  lay  director  why  in  enlarging  the  room 
he  must  do  such  and  such  a thing  not  to  impair  its 
beauty,  cannot  make  the  reason  quite  clear  because 
it  can  be  quite  clear  only  to  him  who  is  trained  in 
aesthetic  relation  and  requirement. 

Utilitarian  requirements  can,  barring  accident,  be 
foreseen  and  planned  on  paper  at  the  inception  of 
the  work  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  lay  directors; 
requirements  in  the  processes  of  scaling,  coloring, 
modelling,  cannot  be  wholly  foreseen,  but  to  a cer- 
tain extent  must  be  felt  as  they  grow.  Many  a non- 
professional critic  comes  forward  with  a suggestion, 
excellent  in  itself,  but  utterly  impossible  of  realiza- 
tion. Sometimes  the  thing  suggested  is  better  than 
the  thing  executed,  but  cannot  be  adopted.  The 
theme  may  be  even  noble,  yet  ridiculous  in  possibil- 
ity of  juxtaposition.  When  Paul  Veronese  painted 
one  of  those  great  banquets,  which  are  among  his 
masterpieces,  and  in  which  was  a figure  of  Christ 
sitting  at  meat  with  many  people,  he  put  a dog 
under  the  table,  as  was  his  frequent  habit.  One  of 
his  building  committee  thought  a dog  not  good 
enough  for  the  subject,  and  requested  the  artist  to 
put  in  St.  Mary  Magdalen  in  its  place,  washing 


58  HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 


the  Christ’s  feet.  The  painter  replied  that  there 
were  compositional  reasons  which  made  it  incon- 
venient to  do  so.  We  have  no  mural  painters  to-day 
in  America  as  authoritative  as  Paul  Veronese,  and 
usually  our  building  committees  treat  us  very  con- 
siderately, but  embarrassing  suggestions  have  been 
sometimes  made. 

In  a way  we  have  been  generous  even  to  lavish- 
ness, and  at  times  we  have  spent  money  that  might 
almost  have  built  the  Parthenon  or  Notre  Dame  of 
Paris.  The  evident  reply  is:  “Yes,  but  this  is  not 
the  age  of  Pericles,  or  of  the  mediaeval  masons’ 
guilds;  where  should  we  look  for  an  Ictinus  or 
Phidias,  or  an  Erwin  von  Steinbach?”  The  re- 
joinder is  as  evident:  Pericles  simply  did  the  best 
he  could  in  his  time.  His  time  happened  to  be  one 
of  the  great  epochs  of  art,  but  that  has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  principle.  He  put  his  enterprise  into 
the  best-trained  hands  that  he  could  find,  and  gave 
to  the  ablest  brain  the  conduct  of  that  enterprise. 
With  the  designers  and  builders  he  associated  him- 
self, perhaps  the  most  enlightened  amateur  of  all 
time,  but  we  may  believe  that  he  let  discussion  of 
important  points  come  from  the  mouths  of  archi- 
tect, painter,  and  sculptor,  before  decision  came  from 
his  own. 

For  it  is  by  no  means  the  wish  of  the  reasonable 
artist  to-day  to  disfranchise  the  enlightened  amateur. 
The  enlightened  amateur  is  invaluable;  he  helps  to 


COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT  59 


clear  up  darkness  in  council;  in  a way  his  all-round 
cultivation  may  bring  a wider  sense  of  perfection 
than  comes  to  the  professional  man.  His  love  of  all 
kinds  of  art  may  permeate  discussion  and  consider 
many  sides  of  a question,  where  the  technician, 
forced  to  concentrate  himself  upon  a point,  may  over- 
look other  points  of  interest  because  they  are  with- 
out his  focus.  The  non-professional  may  map  out 
the  course,  he  may  even  direct  it  in  a general  way, 
but  at  crucial  times,  at  moments  of  emergency, 
safety  will  be  more  assured  if  the  non-professional 
man  keeps  his  hand  off  the  wheel. 

II 

I have  tried  to  note  some  of  the  difficulties  which, 
even  with  the  utmost  good-will  on  both  sides,  may 
arise  between  the  building  commissioner  and  the 
artist  in  control  of  an  enterprise,  be  he  architect, 
mural  painter,  or  sculptor.  Let  us  pass  on  to  the 
question  of  harmony  between  these  three  latter 
creators  of  the  building,  and  begin  by  considering 
the  importance  of  the  artist-architect  as  director 
and  controller. 

If  the  great  decorated  building  is  such  a mighty 
agent,  if  all  civilized  peoples  have  needed  it,  and  pro- 
duced it,  we  too  need  and  must  create  it.  We  have 
created  it,  and  we  are  acquiring  it  yearly  in  more 
and  more  of  our  cities.  Do  we  ever  reflect  much 


6o  HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 


concerning  such  a creation?  It  is  worth  while,  for 
the  process  may  be  illuminating.  How  has  it  begun? 

Here  in  a new  country,  the  sittings  of  the  court  of 
law  have  been  held  first  under  a tree.  Then  the 
school  coeval  with  the  church  has  been  built — built 
perhaps  before  the  court-house  because  the  babies  at 
a task  of  any  kind  need  shelter  more  than  the  hardier 
“ grown-ups.”  Next  have  come  court  and  town 
meeting-house;  then,  as  they  wax  numerous  and 
prosperous,  these  children  of  older  countries  remem- 
ber what  their  ancestors  built  across  seas,  and  ask 
for  something  more  enduring  than  pine  planks  and 
shingles,  until  at  last  those  who  would  still  keep  the 
public  purse-strings  drawn  are  outvoted,  and  an 
appropriation  of  money  is  made.  Here  are  the 
funds  for  the  new  State  capitol.  Now  who  shall 
build  it?  A knows  a good  man,  and  proposes  him; 
so  does  B;  so  does  C.  But  the  other  citizens  say 
no,  and  the  local  papers  say  no  still  more  emphatic- 
ally. “We  wish  to  offer  the  very  widest  opportu- 
nity for  talent.  There  shall  be  no  ‘mute,  inglorious 
Milton’  here;  if  we  have  one,  let  him  speak  out  in 
stone  and  mortar.  Other  States  have  built  great 
capitols,  ours  must  be  as  fine  as  any.  We  will  have  a 
competition.” 

There  is  abundant  fallacy  in  their  contention 
that  a competition  necessarily  offers  the  widest  op- 
portunity for  talent,  but  the  theory  is  democratic, 
and,  after  much  discussion  by  those  who  are  as  nearly 


Copyright  by  Robert  Blum 

Robert  Blum:  Decoration  in  Mendelssohn  Hall  Glee  Club, 

New  York.  Fragment 

One  of  the  pioneer  mural  paintings  which  helped  importantly  to  further  the  movement 


COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT  61 


expert  as  practice  can  make  them,  no  perfectly  satis- 
factory equivalent  for  competition  has  yet  been 
found. 

This  question  of  competitions  is  so  important,  so 
full  of  thorns,  so  far  from  having  been  solved,  that 
a good  deal  of  space  must  be  given  to  even  partial 
consideration  of  it. 


Ill 

The  selection  of  the  men  who  are  to  create  the 
building,  the  architect  who  is  to  design  it,  the  sculp- 
tors and  painters  who  are  to  be  responsible  for  its 
decoration,  is  evidently  a matter  of  grave  importance 
to  the  public. 

The  discussion  of  the  method  of  selection  is  not 
likely  to  be  entertaining  to  the  reader,  but  the 
double  facts — first,  that  what  we  call  an  open  com- 
petition is  the  method  usually  preferred  by  the  public 
and  its  representatives;  secondly,  that  the  artists 
nearly  always  dislike  and  disapprove  of  this  method, 
make  it  desirable  to  state  some  of  the  conditions 
inseparable  from  an  open  competition,  which  render 
selection  by  the  latter  uncertain  of  result.  In  noting 
some  of  these  difficulties,  I emphasize  especially 
those  which  confront  the  mural  painter,  because 
his  specialty  and  needs  are  most  familiar  to  me, 
but  very  nearly  the  same  conditions  apply  to  com- 
petition in  architecture  or  sculpture. 


62  HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 


The  mainspring  of  the  public  desire  for  competi- 
tion is  the  public  wish  for  the  best  service,  and  the 
public  belief  (I  think  mistaken)  that  young  and  un- 
discovered talent  will  find  its  direct  opportunity  in 
open  competition. 

To  put  it  more  familiarly,  the  average  layman  says 
to  himself,  John  Smith,  of  So-and-So;  John  Brown, 
of  So-and-So,  seem  to  us  talented.  How  do  we  know 
that  they  are  not  more  talented  than  any  one  in  the 
field  ? On  the  other  hand,  how  are  they  to  show  their 
talent  save  in  an  open  competition?  What  oppor- 
tunity is  there  for  them  if  the  important  commissions 
in  mural  painting  are  given  always  to  older  men? 
Establish  an  open  competition;  John  Smith  and 
John  Brown  will  gravitate  to  their  proper  places, 
and,  finding  their  opportunity,  two  geniuses  may 
manifest  themselves. 

It  is  possible  to  show  that  the  event  might  prove, 
first,  that  John  Smith  and  John  Brown  would  not 
gravitate  to  their  true  places,  and,  secondly,  by 
reason  of  certain  conditions  which  govern  competi- 
tion, that  they  might  succeed  in  obtaining  the  com- 
mission, and  fail  in  its  execution. 

The  two  main  hindrances  to  a successful  deter- 
mination by  open  competition  are,  first,  unfitness  of 
new  material — by  new  material  I mean  artists  who 
have  not  had  practical  experience  in  mural  painting; 
secondly,  unfitness  of  juries.  These  two  unfitnesses 
react  upon  each  other.  Let  us  begin,  for  convenience 


COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT  63 

sake,  because  it  is  sooner  discussed,  by  considering 
the  second  of  these  two  objections — unfitness  of  the 
jury. 

Very  nearly  the  same  qualities  are  requisite  in  a 
good  juror  as  in  a competent  executant;  therefore 
in  an  important  case  it  is  difficult  to  strengthen  the 
jury  without  weakening  the  ranks  of  the  competi- 
tors. We  are  still  so  young  in  mural  painting  in 
America  that  we  have  not  a conveniently  large  num- 
ber of  men  to  choose  from  for  the  double  service.  If 
our  mural  painting  had  been  long  established  the 
ideal  condition  would  exist  of  many  artists  already 
working  on  commissions  who  would  be  too  busy  to 
compete,  but  not  too  busy  to  act  as  jurors.  This 
condition  will  exist  here  in  the  future,  let  us  hope  in 
the  near  future,  but  does  not  as  yet.  There  would 
probably  be  some  first-rate  artists  whose  absolute 
disapproval  of  competition  would  prevent  their  be- 
coming competitors,  but  their  very  disapproval  of 
the  method  would  disincline  them  from  being  jurors, 
or  at  best  would  make  them  half-hearted. 

In  any  first-rate  artist  temperament  urges  strongly; 
he  is  bound  to  lean  toward  certain  kinds  of  technic, 
and  even  toward  a certain  class  of  subjects.  Bias  of 
this  kind  can  be  neutralized  only  by  the  appoint- 
ment of  a large  jury,  and,  as  stated  above,  such  ap- 
pointment, in  its  withdrawing  of  many  men  from 
possible  competition,  has  distinct  disadvantages. 

In  any  competition  some  sort  of  subject  has  to  be 


64  HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 


given  out,  since  even  its  widest  scope  must  be  ap- 
propriate to  the  place  which  will  receive  decoration. 
Now  nearly  every  limitation  of  subject  will  be  help- 
ful to  the  juror,  and  make  it  easier  for  him  to  de- 
cide between  this  and  that  competitor.  On  the 
other  hand,  exactly  the  contrary  will  obtain  with 
the  competitor,  since  every  limit  put  upon  subject 
will,  in  direct  ratio,  limit  the  said  competitor’s  indi- 
viduality. Here  is  an  almost  insuperable  obstacle 
to  the  best  result. 

If  a single  subject  is  given  even  in  a closed  com- 
petition, say  of  five  competitors,  it  is  certain  to  be 
more  sympathetic  to  some  than  to  others  of  the  five. 
This  at  once  constitutes  inequality  of  opportunity. 
Again,  each  juror  will  lean  by  nature  to  one  kind  of 
subject  rather  than  to  another,  as  well  as  to  some 
special  kind  of  treatment — another  condition  which 
militates  against  perfect  fairness  of  estimate.  If,  on 
the  contrary,  the  commission  were  given  by  direct 
appointment,  the  commissioners  and  the  artist  would 
agree  beforehand  upon  a subject  sympathetic  to 
both.  Any  really  intelligent  client  can  immensely 
increase  his  chance  of  getting  valuable  service  from 
an  architect,  sculptor,  or  painter,  by  discussing 
his  problem  with  him  beforehand,  and  determining 
through  what  he  learns  in  that  discussion  whether 
the  temperament  of  that  particular  architect, 
sculptor,  or  painter  is  sympathetic  with  his  own, 
and  thereby  likely  to  interpret  his  (the  client’s) 


COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT  65 


ideals  as  he  would  like  to  have  them  interpreted. 
But  if  you  have  a competition  it  is  the  competitor’s 
first  duty  not  to  discuss  his  problem  with  the  client 
or  with  any  other  competitor. 

He  may  be  ideally  fitted  to  carry  out  the  client’s 
ideals,  but  he  is  not  allowed  to  find  out  what  they  are ; 
whereas,  in  the  case  of  appointment,  the  client  may 
study  his  artists  as  much  as  he  likes  beforehand,  and 
by  discussion  of  his  problem  with  them  get  a good 
working  knowledge  of  their  temperaments,  even  if 
he  cannot  estimate  their  working  capacities. 

Now,  in  a competition  two  men  are  often  so  nearly 
equal  that  the  question  of  taste  and  personal  wish  on 
the  part  of  the  client  really  ought  to  outweigh  the 
perhaps  very  trifling  superiority  of  one  artist  over 
the  other.  But,  in  accordance  with  the  rules  of  a 
competition,  the  jury  is  rigidly  held  to  give  the  award 
to  the  one  who  is  better  than  the  other,  be  it  ever  so 
little  better,  except  in  the  very  rare  case  of  the  jury 
knowing  the  client's  temperament  and  wishes  in- 
timately enough  to  consult  his  real  and  ultimate  ad- 
vantage, as  seen  from  the  broadest  point  of  view. 
From  this  same  broadest  point  of  view  commission 
by  direct  appointment  is  thus  far  more  practical 
than  commission  through  competition. 

Probably  the  greatest  obstacle  to  healthy  compet- 
ing is  the  a priori  conviction  of  the  artist  competitor, 
that  the  chance  is  very  small  of  his  going  before  a 
jury  which  will  thoroughly  comprehend  him  through 


66  HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 


his  sketch — that  is  to  say,  comprehend  his  aim  toward 
a final  purpose — and  his  further  conviction  that  unless 
his  aim  is  comprehended  the  jury  could  not  possibly 
forecast  the  result  which  he  might  obtain  in  his  fin- 
ished work. 

Now,  there  is  a great  deal  behind  a competitive 
sketch.  There  are  some  things  which  cannot  be 
divined  by  anybody  except  their  author,  and  there 
are  some  things  which  deceive  even  a clever  jury, 
which,  indeed,  at  times  fool  the  author  himself.  It 
is  well  known  to  artists  of  experience  that  a painter 
may  triumph  with  his  sketch,  and  fall  flat  with  his 
finished  work.  We  have  all  seen  sketches  which  were 
captivating  in  appearance,  but  which  depended  for 
their  attractivenes  upon  qualities  which  would 
practically  disappear  as  the  work  was  enlarged. 
Sometimes  such  promise  is  obviously  tricky,  but 
often  it  is  quite  honest  in  the  author  of  the  sketch, 
and  so  subtle  as  to  deceive  the  jurors  and  make  an 
equitable  decision  impossible.  In  sum,  men  who 
make  beautiful  sketches  sometimes  cannot  paint  a 
good  mural  panel;  while  others  who  can  do  a large 
and  admirable  work  are  clumsy  and  ineffectual  in 
their  sketches.  Every  one  of  these  conditions  offers 
an  argument  against  competitions. 

Another  argument  is  this:  the  carrying  power  of 
a sketch,  considered  simply  as  an  impressive  en- 
semble, is  often,  usually  indeed,  aided  by  incomplete- 
ness and  by  breadth  of  handling.  On  the  other  hand, 


COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT  67 


the  carrying  power  of  a sketch,  as  an  expression  of 
finality  in  the  artist’s  intentions,  is  exactly  the  op- 
posite. The  artist’s  chance  of  showing  to  the  jury 
just  what  he  intends  will  be  in  proportion  to  the  de- 
gree of  elaboration  and  finish  which  he  accords  to 
his  sketch.  Therefore  he  will  be  obliged  to  choose 
between  two  kinds  of  effectiveness,  either  one  of 
which  conflicts  with  the  other. 

Again,  psychological  operation  makes  it  almost 
impossible  to  a man  to  plan  as  convincingly  upon  an 
uncertainty  as  he  would  in  the  case  of  a decoration 
which  he  had  received  outright  as  a commission,  and 
was,  therefore,  sure  eventually  to  correct  and  per- 
fect upon  and  from  his  first  plan.  In  the  former  case, 
he  has  to  complicate  what  he  would  like  to  do  by 
what  he  thinks  the  jury  would  like  to  have  him  do, 
and  the  complication,  sure  to  disturb,  is  apt  also  to 
weaken. 

Again,  it  is  open  to  question  whether  the  moral 
effect  of  competitions  is  not  unfortunate.  Several 
men  lose  where  one  wins,  and  each  loser  is  apt  to 
feel  with  justice  that  he  has  not  had  a really  free 
hand.  That  some  of  the  strongest  natures  are  stim- 
ulated by  failure  to  greater  endeavor  is  probable, 
but  in  view  of  their  doubt  as  to  the  real  equality  of 
opportunity,  most  of  the  losers  are  disheartened; 
their  morale  is  lowered.  The  public  may  answer 
that  the  artist  is  here  subject  to  the  common  lot 
and  that  competition  is  a stimulus  and  is  the  soul 


68  HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 


of  business.  To  this  the  rejoinder  is  that  art  is  a 
business  only  in  a secondary  sense;  in  the  first 
sense  it  is  art. 

Again,  business  competition  is  practically  con- 
tinuous, unlimited  by  time,  or  at  any  rate  limited 
only  by  result.  A man  who  is  making  typewriters 
or  automobiles  may  spend  any  amount  of  time  on 
inventing  improvements  before  he  competes,  and 
when  he  does  compete,  it  is  with  a completed  articley 
and  he  wins  by  a carefully  planned  and  executed 
result.  The  artist  in  a competition  can  offer  only  a 
sketch  which  is  but  experimental , and  the  jury’s 
dictum  stands  between  it  and  result. 

In  a strictly  limited  competition  open  only  to  ex- 
perts, who  are  paid  for  their  sketches,  some  of  the 
conditions  stated  in  the  foregoing  paragraphs  may  be 
met,  and  others  improved,  but  a limited  competition 
at  once  throws  out  of  court  the  public’s  first  and  most 
convinced  contention  that  competition  opens  the 
widest  opportunity  to  undiscovered  talent. 

Another  objection  to  competition,  limited  or  un- 
limited, is  its  enormous  expense.  In  an  architectural 
competition,  the  many  thousands  of  dollars  expended 
upon  the  competitive  drawings  in  various  archi- 
tectural offices  are  sometimes  so  out  of  proportion 
to  any  obtainable  return  that  on  the  next  occasion 
some  of  the  most  promising  candidates  decide  to 
stay  out  altogether.  In  the  specific  case  of  a com- 
petition recently  held,  one  of  our  most  experi- 


George  W.  Breck:  “Reflection.”  One  of  the  ceiling  panels  in  the  library 
of  the  residence  of  the  late  Whitelaw  Reid 


COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT  69 


enced  architects  calculated  the  money  spent  by  the 
competing  firms  upon  their  drawings,  and  found 
that  it  amounted  to  more  than  the  commission 
eventually  paid  to  the  winning  competitor.  In 
every  case  of  an  unpaid  competition  the  public  ob- 
tains something  for  nothing.  In  this  case  it  received 
in  cost  of  effort  far  more  than  seems  just.  Trouble- 
some conditions  of  the  kind  I have  mentioned  do 
not  come  to  the  notice  of  the  public,  which,  on  the 
contrary,  is  easily  caught  by  the  specious  semblance 
of  equal  opportunity. 

Of  course,  there  are  two  sides;  the  undiscovered 
genius  may  appear,  but  it  is  unlikely,  and  it  would 
seem  in  the  light  of  experience  hitherto  gathered  that 
the  nearer  the  open  competition  is  kept  to  the  school- 
room and  the  further  from  the  great  public  enter- 
prise the  better.  And  this  brings  us  to  the  strong- 
est argument  of  all.  New  and  untried  talent  should 
not  be  intrusted  with  the  conduct  of  a great  enter- 
prise. For  the  latter,  experience  is  required.  Young 
Napoleons  and  Alexanders  come  but  once  in  a 
thousand  years;  a young  pilot  would  hardly  be 
given  a Mauretania  to  take  into  harbor  on  his  first 
trip;  the  most  brilliant  young  captain  would  scarcely 
command  a division  before  he  had  taken  any  part 
in  its  manoeuvres  as  a subordinate.  To  assume  con- 
trol of  the  decoration  of  a vast  room  is  to  embark 
upon  a great  enterprise;  young  and  untried  talent 
may  find  place  in  its  conduct  and  may  eventually 


7o  HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 


pass  onward  and  upward  to  its  direction,  but  to  base 
the  selection  of  the  director  upon  the  most  brilliant 
sketch  of  a beginner  would  be  to  take  unjustifiable 
risks  with  the  public  support  and  the  public  money. 
And  by  a beginner  I mean  any  one  who  has  not 
already  taken  an  important  subordinate  part  in  the 
control  of  a decoration,  and  taken  it  successfully. 

It  would  be  unfair  to  dismiss  this  side  of  the  sub- 
ject without  admitting  that  commission  by  direct 
appointment  may  open  the  door  to  one  abuse  worse 
than  any  which  has  crept  into  open  competition.  I 
refer  to  lobbying. 

Lobbying,  of  course,  might  result  in  putting  for- 
ward the  right  man,  but  also  it  might,  through  fa- 
voritism, make  an  utterly  unworthy  appointment, 
and  it  cannot  be  too  carefully  guarded  against.  For 
the  less  worthy  an  artist,  the  less  likely  he  is  to  reply, 
as  did  Paolo  Veronese  to  the  Venetian  senator  who 
advised  him  to  enter  a competition:  “I  believe  that 
I am  fitter  to  merit  commissions  than  to  solicit 
them/’  In  the  great  age  of  Italian  art  competitions 
do  not  seem  to  have  been  especially  successful,  else 
Vasari  would  have  noted  more  than  the  few  which  he 
describes;  and  an  army  of  pilgrims  may  thank  their 
stars  to-day  that  Pope  Julius’s  way  of  instituting 
a “competition”  was  to  give  one  series  of  walls  to 
Raphael,  another  to  Michelangelo,  instead  of  ask- 
ing them  to  submit  competitive  sketches  to  a jury 
composed,  we  will  say,  of  himself  and  Giovanni  de’ 


COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT  71 


Medici,  with  Bramante  and  Giuliano  da  San  Gallo 
to  help  them  out  on  technical  points. 

On  the  whole,  commission  by  appointment  ap- 
pears to  be  safer  than  a result  obtainable  by  open 
competition,  and  the  answer  to  the  public’s  main 
contention  would  seem  to  be  this:  John  Smith, 
brilliantly  talented  and  inexperienced,  is  debarred  by 
his  inexperience  from  appointment  to  a headship, 
but  is  fitted  by  his  talent  to  be  appointed  to  a minor 
place  in  which  place  his  talent  will  earn  for  him  ex- 
perience and  assure  his  future. 

IV 

Let  us  suppose,  then,  that  a competition  is  ordered, 
and  architects’  offices  begin  to  buzz,  and  thousands 
of  dollars’  worth  of  time  is  put  into  drawings,  most 
of  which  might  be  carried  out  in  excellent  buildings, 
yet  most  of  which  must  perforce  go  unrewarded  by 
the  final  great  success.  The  jury  meets  and  exhibits 
its  strength  and  its  weakness,  the  decision  is  made 
— enter  the  architect.  Let  us  say  at  once  that 
America,  which  is  productive  of  ability,  has  been  very 
successful  in  this  particular  product  of  a man  who 
must  be  artist  and  engineer,  imaginative  and  prac- 
tical. 

And  think  what  a task  lies  before  him.  This  great 
building  is  to  be  the  temple  of  the  Deity;  that  one 
is  to  stand  for  the  law,  and  must  not  only  shelter 


72  HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 


him  who  pleads,  but  by  its  character  suggest  the 
majesty  of  justice  which  it  enshrines.  Or  it  is  to  be 
a library  which  stores  up  cubic  measure  of  printed 
wisdom,  and  should  manifest  in  its  appearance  its 
appropriateness  to  such  guardianship;  or  a town  hall, 
which  shall  suggest  the  aspirations  and  picture  the 
achievements  of  a community.  The  muse  rightly  in- 
voked eternalizes  the  souvenirs  of  man,  but  those 
two  words — “ rightly  invoked  ” — infer  so  much.  That 
art  is  long,  he  who  sits  before  only  a little  panel  or 
statuette  can  realize;  how  much  more  he  who  sets 
his  hand  to  the  construction  of  a great  and  compli- 
cated building! 

Think  of  the  whole  that  must  be  conceived  as  a 
whole;  the  parts  that  must  be  subordinated — their 
infinite  and  infinitely  subtile  interrelations,  their 
sizes,  proportions,  shapes,  colors,  surfaces,  the  na- 
ture of  their  material,  the  character  of  their  appear- 
ance, simple  or  complicated,  austere  or  rich!  What 
employment  is  here,  what  exaction!  If  we  drop  a 
pin  into  a delicate  mechanism  the  disturbance  may 
be  felt  by  even  ponderous  wheels  which  that  deli- 
cacy has  served  and  governed  at  once.  Anybody 
can  understand  this  because  anybody  can  see  the 
disturbance  that  results.  In  a great  building  a small 
artistic  mistake  may  also  be  far-reaching  in  its  dis- 
turbance of  general  harmony,  but  this  time  it  is 
not  by  any  means  every  one  who  can  realize  it  at 
first,  because  it  is  not  so  patent,  and  only  such  eyes 


COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT  73 


note  it  as  are  either  prompted  by  feeling  or  informed 
by  training.  But  the  small  mistake,  if  unnoted,  can 
go  on  with  its  mischief  until  a big  dissonance  re- 
sults, and  you  have  a regular  “house  that  Jack 
built  ” of  successive  mischances,  all  started  by  one 
little  disagreement  when  the  “dog  began  to  worry 
the  cat,”  with  bad  forms  upon  good  proportions  or 
something  of  the  sort. 

All  this  the  architect  must  foresee,  or  rectify,  or 
suffer  for.  Therefore  he  must  be  armed  at  every 
point;  he  must  be  a gladiator  and  fight  the  opinion 
of  big  and  little  where  it  is  hurtful,  and  he  must 
have  a moral  consciousness  that  can  soar  like  an 
aeroplane  above  considerations  of  gain.  He  must, 
for  example,  reject  in  favor  of  cheaper  material  the 
costlier  marble  which  would  swell  his  commission, 
but  might  hurt  his  artistic  effect.  He  must  be 
modern  and  meet  the  modern  problem,  and  in  so 
doing  turn  his  back  resolutely  upon  some  of  the 
effects  which  he  has  most  loved  and  most  studied 
in  buildings  of  the  past,  effects  upon  which  he  has 
been  brought  up  to  the  comfort  of  his  eyes  and 
mind.  He  may  not  consider  first  of  all  the  propor- 
tions which  he  would  like  to  have.  He  may  not 
spread  out  his  plan,  for  he  is  building  on  ground 
more  precious  than  gold,  and  he  must  squeeze  his 
house,  and  press  it  together,  and  shoot  it  straight  up 
into  the  air.  Two  feet  of  recess  may  cost  thousands; 
two  feet  of  projection  may  entail  a lawsuit  and 


74  HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 


condemnation.  He  may  not  treat  his  facade  with 
beautiful  constructive  ornament,  but,  instead,  must 
make  it  into  a kind  of  colander  for  the  sifting  of 
light  into  every  cranny  of  a thousand  office  rooms, 
and  in  considering  these  same  rooms  he  must  unite 
something  of  the  knowledge  of  a fireman,  a purveyor 
of  fresh  air,  and  even  of  a sanitary  inspector. 

For  this  great  building  is  to  be  useful,  expressive, 
and  beautiful  all  at  once.  The  people  have  paid  their 
money  for  this.  What  responsibility  then  weighs 
upon  the  architect!  How  truly  can  he  be  called 
creator,  how  fortunate  if  one  day  he  may  be  able  to 
look  upon  his  work  and  see  that  it  is  good!  How 
manifold  must  be  his  precautions!  How  almost  in- 
finite are  the  calls  made  upon  his  knowledge!  How 
prodigious  is  the  scope  for  his  imagination!  He  must 
wear  wings,  yet  grope  in  subcellars.  He  must  have 
eyes  for  the  glories  of  paradise  painted  under  his 
dome,  and  at  the  same  time  to  detect  a leak  in  its 
lining.  He  must  appreciate  the  excellence  of  the 
figures  drawn  upon  his  plaster  and  know  that 
plaster’s  chemistry  and  endurance.  Endurance  of 
his  own  he  must  have,  too,  and  the  patience  of  Job 
with  the  walking  delegate  of  the  strikers. 

And  at  the  very  beginning  of  things,  if  he  wishes 
decorative  beauty  in  his  building  he  must  become  a 
missionary  and  a preacher.  He  is  designing  a town 
hall  or  State  capitol.  Now,  beauty  is  expensive;  it 
costs  money;  and  upon  the  committee  which  makes 


YON  Cox:  “The  Light  of  Learning.”  Decoration  in  the  Public  Library,  Winona,  Minn, 
Example  of  balance  of  masses  and  lines  in  the  manner  of  the  full  Renaissance  (early  sixteenth  century) 


COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT  75 


up  the  architect’s  building  commission  are  sure  to  be 
men  with  veto  power,  who  feel  that  their  first  duty 
in  committee  is  to  prevent  unnecessary  expenditure 
of  the  people’s  money,  and  who  as  honestly  believe 
that  beauty  is  unnecessary.  To  these  men  the  archi- 
tect goes  cautiously,  respecting  at  once  their  power 
and  their  undoubted  sincerity,  which  may  cost  his 
building  its  aesthetic  life. 

The  committeeman  begins  by  believing  that  if 
the  transaction  of  business  is  sheltered  nothing  more 
is  needed.  Gradually  he  admits  the  possibility  of  a 
few  columns  which  not  only  “look  nice”  but  hold  up 
something.  Soon,  too,  he  realizes  the  attractive- 
ness of  rich  marble,  though  he  scents  “graft”  in  its 
employment  and  examines  into  the  thing  carefully. 
When  the  architect  attempts  to  show  him  that  in 
certain  cases  a cheap  material  can  be  handsomer 
than  a costly  one  he  looks  askance  at  his  teacher 
and  suspects  him  of  hedging  in  some  way  and  for 
some  purpose.  But  his  education  goes  on.  The 
average  member  of  a building  committee  is  a good 
man,  selected  for  very  real  qualities,  and,  though  he 
may  not  have  much  knowledge  of  art,  he  has  plenty 
of  knowledge  of  other  things. 

By  the  time  that  the  State  capitol  is  finished  the 
recalcitrant  committeeman  is  often  in  love  with  the 
building  from  dome  to  pavement,  and  proud  of  the 
hand  he  has  had  in  it;  and  the  final  relations  between 
architects  and  their  committees  usually  do  the  high- 


76  COMMISSIONER  AND  ARCHITECT 

est  honor  to  both  sides,  and  lead  by  reason  of  their 
success  to  even  more  important  enterprises.  His- 
torians of  art  have  celebrated  the  many-sidedness 
of  the  Renaissance  architects  who  could  build  domes 
and  paint  miniatures,  play  the  lute  and  write  son- 
nets, carve  intagli  and  colossi;  but  even  of  them  we 
may  believe  were  hardly  exacted  more  kinds  of 
knowledge  than  are  asked  of  the  modern  architect. 

“Are  you  a man  or  a meeracle  ?”  says  the  sergeant 
to  Kipling’s  Mulvaney  in  “My  Lord  the  Elephant.” 
“Betwixt  and  betune,”  replied  Mulvaney.  And  so 
to  me  the  architect  has  sometimes  seemed  betwixt 
and  between  a man  and  a miracle  in  his  capacity 
for  all-round  knowledge. 


Ill 


IMPORTANCE  OF  EXPERIENCE  IN  THE 
MURAL  PAINTER 


Ill 


IMPORTANCE  OF  EXPERIENCE  IN  THE 
MURAL  PAINTER 

I 

We  have  discussed  the  importance  of  decoration 
as  a factor  in  civilization  and  the  importance  of 
harmony  between  the  building  commissioner  who 
orders  and  pays  for  the  decoration  and  the  archi- 
tect who  designs  and  directs  it.  Under  this  second 
division  we  have  placed  the  subdivisions  which  re- 
late to  the  importance  of  the  architect  as  an  artist, 
and  the  importance  of  the  selection  of  the  execu- 
tants. We  have  now  to  take  up  the  various  sub- 
divisions of  the  importance  of  the  mural  painter’s 
harmony  with  the  building  commissioner,  with  the 
architect,  and  with  his  fellow  mural  painters. 

Before  all  this  and  as  directly  akin  to  the  last  words 
of  the  preceding  chapter,  we  may  consider  the  im- 
portance of  experience  in  the  mural  painter,  not  for- 
getting that  architecture  and  sculpture  are  closely 
related  to  painting,  and  that  what  is  needed  and  re- 
quired in  the  practitioner  of  one  of  the  three  branches 
is  indispensable  in  the  followers  of  the  other  two. 

79 


8o  IMPORTANCE  OF  EXPERIENCE 


Experience,  so  absolutely  necessary  to  the  archi- 
tect in  control,  is  almost  equally  essential  to  the 
mural  painter.  If  charity  covers  a multitude  of 
sins,  art  covers  and  emboldens  a deal  of  ignorance 
— the  would-be  practice  or  appreciation  of  art,  that 
is.  In  the  estimation  of  the  general,  art  is  by  no 
means  caviare,  but  something  which  they  may  par- 
take of  freely  and  assimilate  by  grace  of  nature; 
to  many  of  them,  in  fact,  art  is  universal  license. 

If  their  friend  is  dangerously  ill  they  will  not 
send  a violinist  or  a painter  to  him,  even  if  that 
violinist  or  painter  has  occasionally  listened  to  a 
lecture  upon  a medical  subject;  but  if  the  question 
is  one  relating  to  art  they  will  cheerfully  set  some 
smatterer  in  the  field  merely  because  he  is  a personal 
acquaintance  whom  they  desire  to  advance.  If  you 
take  them  to  task,  they  say:  “Yes,  but  in  a case  of 
dangerous  illness  it  is  a question  of  the  life  of  a man/’ 
We  answer:  “And  where  art  is  concerned  it  is  some- 
times, as  in  the  case  of  the  Campanile  of  Venice,  for 
instance,  a question  of  a valuable  life  which  lasted 
a thousand  years,  then  ended  for  lack  of  an  artist’s 
supervision.” 

Tell  them  to  start  on  a railway  journey  with  an 
inexperienced  person  at  the  locomotive’s  throttle,  to 
enter  a rocky  channel  with  a green  hand  at  the  helm, 
they  would  search  your  eyes  for  dementia  incipiens; 
but  ask  them  to  embark  an  inexperienced  person 
upon  a long  and  exacting  artistic  enterprise  among 


IN  THE  MURAL  PAINTER 


81 


rocks  and  shallows  of  all  sorts  of  unapprehended 
difficulties,  and  they  will  say : “Why  not  ? ” 

If  they  buy  even  a bulldog  they  will  send  an 
expert  to  select  a prize-winner  for  them;  but  if  it 
is  a matter  of  art — ! He  who  approaches  the  sym- 
bolical goddesses  who  stand  for  chemistry  or  physics 
draws  near  with  respect.  He  admits  that  to  succeed 
with  them  a man  must  know;  but  before  the  goddess 
of  the  arts  the  average  man  is  a chartered  libertine; 
“he  may  chuck  her  under  the  chin  and  sit  on  her 
knee.” 

You  tell  me  perhaps:  “We  are  tired  of  hearing  the 
professional  find  fault  with  the  public.”  Let  me  say 
at  once  that  I am  one  of  those  who  believe  first  and 
last  in  the  public.  It  is  for  it  that  art  in  the  end 
exists.  I believe  in  the  lay  critic,  the  lay  writer; 
above  all,  the  lay  appreciator,  the  men  and  women 
who  make  up  the  world-audience.  I believe  in  them 
first  and  last,  but  not  all  the  time.  There  are  times 
when  they  err  in  indulgence  or  in  severity,  and  when 
it  becomes  necessary  for  the  artists  to  demand  that 
the  rules  be  observed,  if  needful  to  stand  together 
like  soldiers  in  a hollow  square  and  fight  for  this 
observance. 

A famous  business  man  once  said  to  me:  “The 
trouble  with  American  artists  is  exactly  the  same  as 
with  American  business  men.  They  don’t  work 
hard  enough.”  The  application  of  his  proposition 
to  the  business  man  surprised  me;  in  the  case  of  the 


82  IMPORTANCE  OF  EXPERIENCE 


artist  it  may  be  that  he  sometimes  does  not  work 
hard  enough,  but  it  is  certain  that  where  the  matter 
in  hand  is  some  great  decorative  undertaking  the 
public  often  does  not  permit  him  to  think  hard  and 
long  enough — to  prove  his  thought  by  sufficient  ex- 
periment. 

As  we  have  said,  one  of  the  first  of  the  sine-qua- 
nons  in  the  successful  decoration  of  a great  public 
building  is  that  experience  plus  talent  shall  conduct 
the  enterprise.  And  here  again  the  client,  which  in 
this  case  is  the  public,  accepts  our  admonition  with 
an  "of  course,  of  course’’ — then  shows  lack  of  com- 
prehension by  proceeding  somewhat  as  follows:  A 
great  court-house  in  the  capital  of  the  State  of  Cloud- 
land  is  to  be  built.  Some  one  suggests  that  A and 
B and  C,  experienced  mural  painters  in — say,  New 
York,  or  Philadelphia,  or  Chicago — be  consulted, 
and  that  one  of  them  be  chosen  to  direct  the  work. 
Straightway  somebody  else  cries:  "No!  We  must 
have  a Cloudland  man  to  do  Cloudland  work.  John 
Smith,  born  in  Cloudland,  is  full  of  talent;  he  spent 
four  years  at  the  Atelier  Tel-et-Tel  in  Paris,  and  has 
had  a medal  at  the  Salon.”  So  John  Smith,  of 
Cloudland,  is  given  the  direction  of  the  work. 

Now,  nothing  can  be  more  praiseworthy  or  more 
natural  than  the  feeling  which  prompts  such  action 
on  the  part  of  the  building  commissioners  for  the 
court-house.  They  are  sincere,  earnest,  patriotic, 
and  they  wish  to  give  the  local  man  an  opportu- 


Arthur  Crisp:  “The  Attributes  of  Dramatic  Art.”  Decoration  for  wall 
by  stairway,  Belasco  Theatre 


IN  THE  MURAL  PAINTER  83 

nity.  Nevertheless  there  are  many  chances  that  they 
will  be  mistaken  in  their  action. 

There  is  a deal  of  artistic  talent  all  over  the  coun- 
try, a deal  of  it  in  Cloudland,  presumably  a deal  of 
it  in  John  Smith.  But  there  is  very  little  special 
experience  in  the  country,  and  such  experience  is 
absolutely  essential  to  the  successful  conduct  of  so 
exacting  an  undertaking  as  is  the  decoration  of  a 
public  building;  for  decoration,  which  is  a great 
branch  of  art,  happens  also  to  be  a science — or  at 
least  to  have  one  foot  based  upon  it — and  science  is 
exact  knowledge,  the  fruit  of  experience  and  only 
of  experience. 

It  is  right  that  John  Smith  should  be  granted  the 
privilege  conferred  by  his  nativity  and  backed  by 
his  talent.  It  is  right  that  the  young  men,  young  in 
experience,  that  is — I do  not  care  how  few  or  how 
many  years  they  may  have  lived — right,  I say,  that 
these  young  men,  if  they  have  shown  ability  and  char- 
acter, should  be  recompensed  for  the  same,  should 
be  given  an  under-part  in  the  work,  and  so  win  ex- 
perience and  pass  onward  and  upward  to  the  con- 
trol of  later  work. 

But  the  headship  of  such  an  enterprise  should  be 
intrusted  only  to  a man  who  has  already  proven  his 
capacity  as  a leader  and  a controller.  Feeling  will 
not  suffice;  knowledge  is  required.  The  qualities 
which  gave  John  Smith  his  medal  in  the  Salon  will 
probably  be  of  great  help  in  eventually  making  him 


84  IMPORTANCE  OF  EXPERIENCE 


a decorator,  but  no  Pallas  Athene  of  talent  can  spring 
fully  armed  from  the  brain  of  any  atelier  whatever, 
be  it  in  Olympus  or  Paris  or  New  York,  new-born, 
and  yet  ready  to  assume  the  direction  of  a great 
work  which  demands  co-ordination  of  all  sorts  based 
upon  nothing  short  of  past  experience. 

Certainly,  every  one  must  agree  with  the  propo- 
sition that  the  young  men  should  have  an  oppor- 
tunity. It  is  in  them  that  lies  our  only  hope  of  future 
decoration  in  America.  But  this  does  not  mean 
that  the  men  who  by  hard  study  have  learned  to 
decorate  shall  step  aside  and  give  their  place  to  those 
who  wish  to  learn.  Such  a proposition  could  not  be 
reasonably  entertained  in  any  business  or  profession 
or  at  any  time  of  the  earth’s  history.  If  a great 
tower  were  to  be  erected,  and  an  architect  success- 
fully laid  the  foundations  to  it,  surely  no  building 
commission  would  say:  “Now  we  will  delay  the  fur- 
ther erection  until  other  and  younger  architects  have 
learned  to  lay  foundations.”  If  they  did,  the  result 
would  be  a country  full  of  foundations  without  any 
towers  upon  them. 

And  that  is  in  a sense  what  will  happen  if  we  lean 
too  much  to  local  patriotism;  for  in  such  a case  what 
begins  as  nationalism  easily  becomes  parochialism. 
If  the  work  is  to  be  given  to  John  Smith  only  because 
he  is  of  Cloudland,  this  will  happen.  In  each  State 
and  county  the  local  artist  will  be  preferred;  now, 
continued  and  repeated  experience  is  needed  to  make 


IN  THE  MURAL  PAINTER 


85 


a director  of  decoration.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
cannot,  save  in  a few  great  States,  be  enough  impor- 
tant work  to  build  up  with  reasonable  rapidity  and 
fortify  such  experience  as  would  warrant  leadership 
in  decoration.  Many  years  would  have  to  elapse 
before  the  really  experienced  decorator  could  be 
developed;  the  land  would  be  full  of  half-educated 
artists  doing  work  beyond  their  capacity  instead  of 
painting  under  men  who  would  gradually  lead  them 
to  the  top.  In  the  story,  the  old  lady  always  saved 
the  ripe  apples  till  they  began  to  decay,  and  so  finally 
ate  them  all  rotten;  we  should  reverse  this  system 
and  eat  all  our  apples  unripe  and  sour. 

It  should  be  axiomatic  that  only  through  repeated 
opportunity  can  a man  become  a mural  painter,  but 
he  should  not  become  one  through  the  cession  of 
opportunity  by  men  older  in  experience,  but  rather 
through  the  natural  and  gradual  development  of  more 
general  opportunity.  This  opportunity  can  arise  only 
through  popularization,  and  popularization  can  be 
produced  only  by  the  intrinsic  excellence  of  the  work 
shown.  It  is  quite  true  that  a certain  popularization 
comes  from  a spirit  of  rivalry  between  different 
localities,  and  a spirit  of  imitation,  but  this  is  a 
dangerous  state  of  mind  based  upon  artificiality. 
Unless  the  excellence  of  the  work  is  sustained  it  will 
cease  to  interest;  people  will  find  out  that,  though 
they  have  kept  abreast  of  their  neighbor  over  the 
way,  they  do  not  really  care  for  what  they  have  ob- 


86  IMPORTANCE  OF  EXPERIENCE 


tained,  and  then  the  spirit  of  imitation  will  manifest 
itself  quite  as  naturally  and  rapidly  in  the  abandon- 
ment of  decoration  as  it  did  in  undertaking  it. 

II 

So  much  then  for  the  statement  that  experience 
plus  talent  is  absolutely  necessary  to  him  who  is  to 
be  given  the  conduct  of  an  important  part  in  dec- 
oration. A few  examples  of  the  puzzles  and  troubles 
that  confront  a mural  painter  who  is  engaged  upon 
an  important  work  are  sufficient  to  demonstrate  the 
truth  of  this  statement. 

To  begin  with,  in  a great  building  in  course  of 
erection,  the  mural  painter  or  the  sculptor  has  to 
do  his  thinking  under  certain  physically  and  materi- 
ally difficult  conditions.  In  Chicago,  at  the  World’s 
Fair,  we  mural  painters  wore  sweaters,  the  wind 
blew  the  turpentine  out  of  our  cups  and  stiffened 
our  fingers;  in  Washington,  under  a summer  sun 
beating  upon  the  dome  of  the  Library  of  Congress, 
we  worked  in  gauze  underclothing  only,  and  drank 
a bucketful  of  ice-water  a day;  in  another  great 
building,  when  the  steam  was  turned  on  in  September 
to  dry  the  plastering,  one  of  my  assistants  became 
very  sick,  but  went  bravely  on  with  his  painting. 
These  are  only  physical  discomforts,  but  they  make 
it  hard  to  do  thoughtful  work.  Something,  however, 
that  is  more  than  physical  goes  into  trying  to  com- 


IN  THE  MURAL  PAINTER 


87 


pel  vast  spaces  to  tell  as  one  piece;  into  making 
thirty  figures  scale  alike,  and  scale  with  the  archi- 
tecture too;  into  considering  the  amount  of  air  that 
is  to  come  between  the  decoration  and  its  spectator — 
sometimes  ten  feet  of  air,  sometimes  one  hundred 
and  fifty;  into  suiting  various  portions  of  your  dec- 
oration to  the  different  lighting  of  different  parts  of 
the  same  space;  into  allowing  for  the  treatment  of 
curved  surfaces;  into  conforming  your  composition 
of  masses  and  lines  to  the  sort  of  ornament,  rich  or 
severe,  that  is  to  surround  it;  into  neutralizing  the 
effect  of  unfortunate  reflections;  into  realizing  that, 
deprived  as  we  are,  in  mural  work,  of  the  resource 
of  varnish,  only  repeated  experience  teaches  what 
our  overpaintings  may  dry  into. 

With  all  of  these  difficulties  to  consider  and  many, 
very  many  more,  which  I have  no  space  to  note,  is  it 
hard  to  accept  my  affirmation  that  not  talent  alone 
but  talent  backed  by  experience  is  absolutely  essen- 
tial to  him  who  would  direct  a great  enterprise  in 
mural  painting?  Take  a man  who  is  full  of  ability 
and  set  this  problem  before  him;  for  a time  he  will 
be  bewildered,  and  there  are  things  which  nobody 
can  tell  him;  he  must  find  them  out  for  himself. 

One  of  the  most  brilliant  of  American  painters, 
Alfred  Collins,  who  was  taken  away  from  us  only 
too  early,  and  to  our  great  loss,  came  into  the  Van- 
derbilt Gallery  one  day  when  I was  painting  there 
on  a large  decoration.  He  criticised  a certain  part 


88  IMPORTANCE  OF  EXPERIENCE 


of  my  work.  I said:  “That  has  been  puzzling  me, 
too,  and  I have  made  repeated  changes  in  that  par- 
ticular place.  Take  my  palette,  and  go  up  on  the 
scaffold,  and  make  the  change  yourself;  suggest  what 
you  would  like  to  see.”  He  went  up  the  ladder  and 
painted  a little  while,  then  came  down  and  viewed 
his  work  from  the  floor.  “Why,  it  doesn’t  look  at 
all  the  same  from  here  as  from  the  scaffold.”  “No,” 
I replied,  “that’s  what  I’ve  been  finding  out  over 
and  over  again  for  several  years.”  He  remounted 
the  scaffold,  returned  twice  to  the  floor,-  then  put 
the  palette  back  into  my  hands  and  said,  laughing: 
“I  give  it  up.” 

A commission  for  a decoration  in  a public  building 
had  been  allotted  to  Collins.  A few  weeks  later  he 
decided  to  decline  it,  and  told  me  that  he  did  not 
for  the  moment  feel  able  to  take  the  time  necessary 
to  acquire  such  experience  as  would  enable  him  to 
handle  the  work  properly.  That  Collins  would  have 
made  a brilliant  decorator  could  he  have  taken  time 
to  grow  gradually  along  the  lines  of  mural  work  I 
feel  sure;  that  under  the  circumstances  he  was  wise 
in  declining  I am  almost  equally  certain. 

The  most  delightful  example  which  we  have  of 
simplicity  dauntlessly  confronting  complexity  is 
probably  that  of  William  Morris  and  his  friends  at 
Oxford  volunteering  an  attack  upon  a stone-vaulted 
ceiling.  They  were  full  of  subject-matter — which 
latter  was  to  treat  of  knights  and  dragons  and  such — 


Copyright , 1Q04,  by  Elliott  Daingerjielcl. 

Elliott  Daingerfield:  “The  Epiphany.”  Part  of  the  decoration  in  the  Church  of  St.  Mary  the  Virgin, 

New  York  City 


IN  THE  MURAL  PAINTER 


89 


and  they  were  full  of  a high  courage,  too,  and  of  an 
enthusiasm  so  compelling  that  when  a coat  of  linked 
mail  was  made  for  them  to  paint  from  and  was  sent 
up  from  London,  Morris  put  it  on  and  insisted  upon 
wearing  it  at  luncheon.  They  had  delightful  swords 
and  helmets,  but  their  artistic  weapons  and  ammuni- 
tion were  not  as  substantial  as  their  costume  prop- 
erties. They  painted  with  water-color  brushes  on  the 
rough , unprepared  stone  surface , so  that  Preraphaelite 
compositions  by  Morris,  Burne-Jones,  and  Rossetti, 
of  gods  and  heroes,  vanished  from  the  walls  almost 
as  fast  as  they  were  painted  upon  them.  No  be- 
ginner would  follow  them  quite  as  far  to-day,  though 
their  naivete  was  so  charming,  their  sincerity  so 
evident,  that  one  envies  them. 

Certainly  to-day’s  beginner  has  every  right  to 
make  some  mistakes  without  being  laughed  at.  If 
he  is  told  that  he  must  at  once  prepare  his  color- 
sketch  and  must  plan  all  his  operations  for  a room 
which  is  to  be  completed  in  six  months,  he  goes  to 
the  said  room  to  inspect  and  consider  it,  and  finds  it 
very  probably  choked  with  scaffolding  from  floor  to 
ceiling,  and  in  almost  black  darkness.  In  the  midst 
of  the  forest  of  uprights  and  horizontal  planks,  which 
nearly  shut  out  all  light,  he  has  to  decide  whether 
the  scale  of  his  figures  will  be  right,  whether  his  tones 
are  too  light  or  too  dark,  his  colors  too  weak  or  too 
strong.  It  will  not  be  surprising  if  the  beginner  says 
to  himself:  “My  calculation  may  not  turn  out  right 


9o  IMPORTANCE  OF  EXPERIENCE 


the  first  time.”  If  he  does  not  say  as  much,  and 
does  not  proceed  with  caution,  he  is  likely  to  lose  the 
game  on  his  very  first  cast  of  the  die.  Too  much 
caution,  on  the  other  hand,  will  tie  his  hands;  and 
many  a tame-looking  interior  proceeds  from  the  fact 
that  the  inexperienced  decorator,  new  to  his  task, 
gropes  timidly  for  himself  instead  of  working  with 
assurance  under  some  one  else,  and  upon  the  basis  of 
that  some  one  else’s  experience. 

Perhaps  you  say:  “But  a man  must  begin  some- 
where. Did  not  the  painters  of  the  Renaissance  fear- 
lessly attack  any  problem,  and  did  not  every  little 
place  have  its  local  man  able  to  celebrate  the  local 
fastes?”  To  this  I can  reply:  “Such  is  the  general 
impression,  but  it  is  a false  one.” 

Nowhere  in  the  world  has  parochialism  in  politics, 
and  in  art,  too,  been  stronger  than  in  Italy.  Cam- 
panile has  vied  with  campanile  in  the  celebration 
of  its  local  men;  and  the  mediaeval  hate  of  town  for 
town  has  frequently  only  softened  into  a prejudice 
which  now  and  again  is  loudly  expressed  to-day. 
Nevertheless,  the  most  important  local  enterprises 
in  the  heyday  times  of  decoration  were  not  always, 
not  even  generally,  confided  to  the  local  man,  but 
were  governed,  or  at  any  rate  influenced,  by  the  great 
artists  of  the  moment.  Duccio,  the  Lorenzetti,  and 
Martini — all  Siennese — decorated  not  only  the  city 
but  the  whole  province,  and  pushed,  some  of  them,  as 
far  as  Naples  in  the  south  and  probably  Avignon  in 


IN  THE  MURAL  PAINTER 


9i 


the  north.  Giotto  and  his  direct  colaborers  covered 
the  walls  of  Italy  from  Naples  to  Padua.  Benozzo 
Gozzoli  and  Pinturicchio  went  up  and  down  Tus- 
cany and  Umbria;  Mantegna’s  and  Perugino’s  were 
(in  very  different  ways)  names  to  conjure  with  in 
many  parts  of  the  peninsula.  Michelangelo’s  almost 
universal  influence  was  even  baneful,  because  too  big 
and  forceful  for  the  comprehension  of  his  average 
worshipper.  Raphael,  it  is  true,  did  hardly  any  dec- 
oration outside  of  Rome,  but  only  because  his  short 
life  could  spare  little  working  time  to  clients  extra 
muros , even  if  they  wore  crowns  or  coronets.  Venice 
drew  to  herself  the  cleverest  artists  from  the  moun- 
tains, lakes,  and  plains  of  the  mainland — from  Ve- 
rona, Cadore,  Conegliano,  the  Bergamasque  territory; 
made  great  artists,  world-masters,  of  them,  and  sent 
them  out  again  to  decorate  the  walls  of  all  north 
Italy  with  little  reference  to  their  nativity,  but 
counting  always  upon  their  record  of  experience; 
while  Tiepolo  filled  Lombardy,  the  Veneto,  South 
Germany,  and  Spain  with  the  fruits  of  his  prodigious 
activity.  It  is  easy  to  note  an  exception  or  two,  ex- 
amples to  prove  the  rule,  to  cite  Correggio  in  Parma 
(though  even  in  his  case  it  was  lack  of  outside,  rather 
than  excess  of  local,  appreciation  that  induced  his 
insularity),  or  to  say  that  the  presence  of  theUrbinate 
Bramante  at  the  papal  court  gave  to  the  Urbinate 
Raphael  his  opportunity.  In  the  main  the  minor 
decorative  works  of  Italy  were  carried  out  by  the 


92 


IMPORTANCE  OF  EXPERIENCE 


local  men.  The  big  marking  cycles  of  decoration  for 
the  public  buildings  were  the  work  of  the  great 
masters  who  painted  not  only  at  home  but  far  afield. 

It  is  infinitely  unlikely  that  any  man  to  whom 
decoration  is  a new  undertaking,  no  matter  how 
gifted  he  might  be,  could  successfully  confront  the 
problems  of  scale,  of  lighting,  of  color,  and  of 
modelling,  as  influenced  by  the  said  lighting  and  by 
distance.  That  is  why  he  should  not  be  given  the 
headship  of  any  important  decorative  enterprise  at 
first,  but  should  win  his  chevrons  under  a superior 
officer  before  he  earns  his  epaulets  as  commander. 
Perhaps  you  say:  “But  is  it  not  better  to  select  a 
big  man  to  head  a big  enterprise?  Will  not  his  mis- 
takes be  at  least  the  mistakes  of  a big  man  instead 
of  a little  one?  Is  it  not  better  to  risk  something 
upon  him  than  to  employ  some  minor  personality?” 
Of  course , it  might  be;  but  where  is  the  necessity 
for  such  a choice?  Such  action  we  had  to  take 
twenty-five  years  ago,  for  at  that  time,  save  John 
La  Farge,  we  had  no  master-decorator  in  the  field; 
then  if  La  Farge  were  busy  elsewhere  the  best  line 
of  action  to  follow  was  to  give  the  commission  to  the 
most  eminent  artist  procurable,  and  trust  to  his 
working  out  the  decorative  problem  by  degrees,  and 
by  reason  of  his  all-round  capacity.  But  to-day 
those  first  men  who  were  chosen,  as  well  as  a whole 
group  of  others,  have  proved  their  ability  to  lead; 
and  there  is  not  the  slightest  need  of  confiding  to  an 


IN  THE  MURAL  PAINTER 


93 

inexperienced  talent,  however  eminent,  the  conduct 
of  any  important  enterprise. 

On  the  contrary,  if  America  is  truly  to  profit  by 
the  unparalleled  opportunity  which  social,  industrial, 
and  geographical  conditions  may  in  a near  future 
offer  to  the  decorative  artist,  architect,  sculptor, 
painter,  we  must  demand  the  ultimate  of  the  latter, 
the  ultimate  in  talent  and  experience.  He  must  know 
the  art  of  bygone  times  thoroughly  in  order  that  he 
may  utilize  its  happenings  and  processes  in  meeting 
the  needs  of  the  present.  He  must  sympathize  with 
the  branches  of  art  which  are  sisters  to  his  own; 
and,  in  sum,  he  must  be  a veritable  Janus  looking 
backward  for  all  that  the  past  may  teach  him, 
yet  not  forgetting  that  he  is  an  American  among 
Americans,  looking  forward  upon  the  threshold  of  no 
one  knows  how  potential  a future. 


IV 


HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 
COMMISSIONER  AND  MURAL  PAINTER 


IV 


HARMONY  BETWEEN  BUILDING 
COMMISSIONER  AND  MURAL  PAINTER 

I 

There  is  an  art  which  is  of  the  people,  for  the 
people,  by  the  people.  It  is  of  the  people,  for  it 
celebrates  their  annals;  it  is  for  them,  for  it  is  spread 
upon  the  walls  of  their  buildings — the  public  build- 
ings; it  is  by  the  people,  for  it  is  created  by  the 
men  who  were  born  on  our  prairies  or  in  our  cities. 
It  is  non-partisan;  it  preaches  to  Democrat  and 
Republican  alike.  It  should  be  fostered  by  both, 
yet  it  is  misunderstood  by  both.  This  art  should 
be  a queen  and  is  a Cinderella.  She  holds  the  wand 
of  her  fairy  godmother,  Imagination,  and  can  turn 
the  commonplace  into  gold,  gold  which  is  instruc- 
tion and  stimulus  to  greater  action.  Yet  our  govern- 
ing boards  would  only  too  often  for  false  economy’s 
sake  turn  back  the  golden  chariot  of  imagination 
into  a pumpkin  again. 

This  art  is  the  art  of  mural  painting  and  decorative 
sculpture — in  a wider  sense,  the  art  of  decoration. 

97 


98 


BUILDING  COMMISSIONER 


To-day  in  America  we  have  an  altogether  unpar- 
alleled opportunity.  We  have  vast  wealth,  we  have 
vast  territory.  We  have  cities  planned  and  cities 
building,  and  cities  built  yet  growing.  Under  less 
favorable  circumstances  Greece  and  Italy,  France 
and  England  raised  monuments  which  have  been  a 
joy  and  an  illustration  for  millennials.  How  care- 
ful, then,  we  should  be  of  our  opportunity,  for 
unless  we  do  have  a care  we  may  leave  behind  us 
buildings  many  of  which  at  best  are  but  half  suc- 
cesses, some  of  which  occasion  little  save  regret. 

Why  did  they  do  so  well  in  the  past?  Because  the 
artist — I mean  the  architect,  sculptor,  painter — had 
the  people  as  his  constituency,  and  the  people  gave 
their  labor  and  their  money  freely  in  exchange  for 
beauty,  which  to  them  was  a commodity,  a commod- 
ity understood  and  valued.  Together  with  beauty 
the  people  demanded  utility  and  convenience,  and 
obtained  them,  but  they  never  forgot  beauty,  and 
in  the  creation  of  that  great  teacher  of  history,  pa- 
triotism, morals,  aesthetics,  which  is  the  decorated 
public  building — town  hall,  or  temple,  or  cathedral 
— they  never  condemned  beauty  to  take  even  a 
second  place. 

Why  have  we  done  so  much  less  well?  Because 
our  people  never  think  of  giving  beauty  the  first 
place.  Above  it  they  set  convenience,  and  some- 
times above  that  financial  benefit  to  some  person 
or  persons  indeterminate. 


T.  W.  Dewing:  “The  Days.”  Decoration  in  the  home  of  Miss  Cheney,  South  Manchester,  Mass. 


AND  MURAL  PAINTER 


99 


You  may  reply  that  we  do  not  always  sacrifice 
beauty,  and,  secondly,  that  utility  is  more  important 
than  beauty.  The  answer  to  your  first  objection  is 
that  there  have  been  a number  of  honorable  excep- 
tions of  State  capitols  and  court-houses  and  libraries 
whose  commissioners  have  seriously  insisted  upon 
beauty,  but  I am  here  characterizing  and  condemn- 
ing the  greater  number  of  cases.  To  your  second 
objection  one  may  reply  that  to  sacrifice  utility  to 
beauty  might  be  wrong,  but  that  no  such  sacrifice 
is  necessary.  With  brains,  money,  and  patience, 
utility  and  beauty  may  always  become  yoke-fellows 
in  a great  public  building,  since  beauty  is  indeed 
the  artistic  expression  of  utility. 

II 

Why,  then,  do  we  not  have  them  together,  since 
brains  our  architects  have,  money  our  public  appro- 
priates, and  of  patience  there  still  exists  a modicum? 
Let  us  look  into  the  matter. 

In  decoration  the  relation  of  artist  to  client  will 
for  some  time  be  complicated  by  the  newness  of  the 
situation.  In  American  art  mural  painting  is  a new- 
comer. Even  in  Europe  it  is  the  child  of  a relatively 
recent  renaissance,  a renaissance  forty  years  old  at 
most.  But  in  America  it  is  more  than  a newcomer;  it 
is  a newcomer  environed  and  confronted  by  wholly 
changed  conditions.  It  is  like  a leader  of  a brand- 


IOO 


BUILDING  COMMISSIONER 


new  political  party  bringing  in  with  him  a group  of 
men  who  “knew  not  Joseph”  and  whose  ideas  of 
government  and  economy  are  revolutionary.  The 
buyer  and  collector  of  easel  pictures,  donor  to  and 
founder  of  museums,  is  one  of  two  things — either  he 
is  a cultured  man  and  lover  of  art,  or  else  he  is  one 
who  wishes  to  become  cultured  and  to  be  a patron. 
In  the  first  case  he  relies  on  his  own  culture,  in  the 
second  on  the  culture  of  friends  or  experts  who 
teach  him  how  to  buy  and  give.  But  in  either  case, 
and  this  is  my  point,  he  studies  the  intrinsic  and  mar- 
ket value  of  the  pictures,  and  a considerable  price 
asked  and  paid  adds  zest  to  his  action  and  prestige 
to  his  collection.  To  put  a great  deal  of  money  into 
his  purchase  intelligently  is  one  of  his  objects.  Now 
in  the  procedure  which  occurs  in  relation  to  mural 
painting  exactly  the  contrary  obtains. 

Mural  painting  in  America  is  usually  accorded  only 
to  public  or  semipublic  buildings,  capitols,  town 
halls,  court-houses,  libraries,  churches,  schools,  thea- 
tres, hotels.  The  erection  of  a public  building  is 
placed  in  the  hands  of  a board  of  building  commis- 
sioners. These  men  are  presumably  chosen  for  their 
business  ability,  their  integrity,  and  their  public 
spirit,  and  in  most  cases  they  prove  their  possession 
of  these  attributes.  But  also  in  most  cases  they 
differ  absolutely  in  their  point  of  view  on  this  par- 
ticular matter  from  the  private  collector  and  donor 
to  museums.  The  collector  means  to  have  the  best 


AND  MURAL  PAINTER 


IOI 


art,  but  he  knows  that  for  the  best  he  must  lavish 
money,  though  he  is  determined  that  intelligence 
shall  so  guide  his  lavishness  as  to  resolve  it  into  a 
future  asset  and  profit.  Now  I am  not  speaking  of 
the  connoisseur  who  accidentally  becomes  a build- 
ing commissioner,  but  of  the  average  commissioner 
who  is  in  quite  another  state  of  mind.  He  also 
wishes  to  have  the  best  art,  and  demands  it,  but  he 
desires  even  more  strongly  not  to  expend  much  of 
the  people’s  money  for  it.  Able  and  honest  though 
he  is  in  other  respects  and  along  other  lines,  he  does 
not  understand  art. 

He  cannot  see  far  enough  into  the  future  to  realize 
that  good  mural  panels  will  inevitably  become  a 
financial  asset,  and  his  reasoning,  though  honest,  will 
not  go  deep  enough  to  prove  to  him  that  public 
money  expended  on  third-class  art  is  public  money 
squandered.  He  does  not,  until  after  he  has  acquired 
real  experience,  know  the  difference  between  first, 
second,  and  third  rate  art,  and  he  suspects  those  who 
could  teach  him,  suspects  them  of  being  interested. 
Now  we  must  not  account  this  as  blameworthy,  for 
it  is  natural  and  at  first  inevitable. 

The  building  commissioner,  no  matter  how  able 
he  may  be,  can  learn,  as  the  rest  of  us  do,  only  by 
experience,  and  for  a long  time  he  is  bound  to  be  the 
victim  of  circumstances  which  he  can  but  gradually 
learn  to  control. 

He  is  a good  business  man,  his  strongest  instinct 


102 


BUILDING  COMMISSIONER 


is  to  not  make  a bad  investment,  and  his  first  idea 
of  a good  investment  is  of  one  which  returns  more 
than  it  demands.  He  thinks  in  terms  of  straight 
commercialism.  For  instance,  he  knows  that  to 
make  a certain  kind  of  shoe  costs  such  a sum,  to 
make  a thousand  of  them  would  cost  a thousand 
times  as  much  minus  such  discount  as  wholesale 
manufacture  renders  possible.  He  learns  that  a pic- 
ture two  feet  square,  by  Mr.  Blank,  the  artist,  has 
just  been  sold  for  so  much.  He  expects  Blank  to 
be  able  to  tell  him  at  once  exactly  what  a lunette 
superficially  twenty  times  as  large  shall  cost.  He 
cannot  conceive  why  the  artist  is  doubtful  and  hes- 
itates, and  he  suspects  him  of  hedging.  But  the 
shoe  is  a problem  which  has  been  proved;  it  is  well 
known  just  how  much  time  and  material  go  to  its 
making.  It  is  not  so  with  the  painted  lunette — the 
work  may  proceed  rapidly  or  slowly,  may  demand, 
as  it  develops,  more  or  less  elaboration  than  the 
author  had  expected  when  he  contracted  for  it. 
What  a field  is  here  for  disappointment  and  suspi- 
cion, and  perfectly  honest  disagreement  between  the 
artist  and  the  commissioner  who  is  navigating  un- 
tried waters! 

The  commissioners  thoroughly  understand  econ- 
omy when  it  means  saving  money  by  not  expending 
it;  when,  for  instance,  it  amounts  to  paying  one 
thousand  dollars  to  B instead  of  twenty-five  hundred 
to  A;  but  they  cannot  understand  the  economy 


AND  MURAL  PAINTER 


103 


which  consists  in  not  spending  good  money  upon 
feeble  thought  or  poor  work.  They  cannot  compre- 
hend the  waste  involved  in  paying  B one  thousand 
dollars  for  almost  worthless  creations,  instead  of 
giving  twenty-five  hundred  to  A for  something  good. 
The  output  is  obvious  to  them,  the  value  returned 
is  unfamiliar,  they  cannot  estimate  it,  and  when  the 
architect  assures  them  that  it  is  great,  they  think  of 
him  doubtfully,  as  of  one  necessarily  interested  and 
probably  prejudiced. 

Again,  save  in  rare  cases,  the  commissioners  can- 
not grasp  the  importance  of  the  art  required  in  the 
creation  of  a public  building.  Tradition  has  conse- 
crated it,  history  celebrated  it,  fashion  has  dictated 
pilgrimage  to  shrines  of  art  as  a duty,  and,  indeed, 
the  commissioner  himself  while  on  his  particular 
pilgrimage  to  Europe  may  be  temporarily  dazzled 
while  he  is  actually  in  presence  of  the  building  or 
picture  or  statue,  but  when  he  has  turned  his  back 
upon  them  his  memory  is  too  imperfect  to  sustain 
enthusiasm.  A,  who  is  a famous  and  experienced 
architect,  or  sculptor,  or  painter,  suggests  to  the 
building  commissioners  a creation  which  shall  cost 
so  much  and  shows  his  design.  B,  a much  less 
interesting  artist,  offers  another  costing  one-quarter 
as  much.  The  commissioners  say,  in  all  sincerity, 
that  as  soon  as  preliminary  business  is  cleared  away 
they  will  give  the  commission  to  A as  the  better 


man. 


io4  BUILDING  COMMISSIONER 

The  clearing  of  preliminary  business  proceeds,  the 
bills  for  lighting  and  plumbing  are  much  larger  than 
were  expected,  also  some  other  bills.  Economy 
must  be  practised;  where  shall  this  occur?  In  the 
decoration  of  the  building,  of  course — lighting  and 
plumbing  are  necessary , art  as  a superfluity  may  be 
mulcted. 

Now  this  is  folly , folly  most  of  all  in  a new  coun- 
try which  lacks  the  example  of  fine  buildings.  Good 
art  is  not  a superfluity;  it  is  a prime  necessity;  it 
comes  immediately  after  indispensable  convenience, 
and  much  convenience  might  to  advantage  be  dis- 
pensed with  in  its  favor.  Lighting,  heating,  and 
plumbing  should  be  of  the  best,  but  should  not  for 
one  moment  be  provided  at  the  expense  of  good  art. 
Science  advances  so  fast  that  in  relatively  few  years 
the  systems  of  lighting,  heating,  plumbing,  will  be 
improved  out  of  existence  in  that  particular  build- 
ing, and  will  have  to  be  paid  for  over  again.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  best  art  lasts  practically  forever. 
The  pilgrims  to  the  decorations  of  the  Sistine  Chapel 
fell  into  line  four  hundred  years  ago,  and  are  still 
on  the  march;  the  marble  deities  of  the  Parthenon’s 
pediments  and  frieze  have  received  visitors  for 
more  than  two  thousand  years.  In  short,  the  com- 
missioners who  dock  the  appropriation  for  decora- 
tion in  favor  of  the  appropriation  for  plumbing  and 
lighting  sacrifice  the  possibly  enduring  for  the  in- 
evitably ephemeral. 


AND  MURAL  PAINTER 


i°5 


But  you  could  not  convince  any  building  com- 
mission of  that,  unless  it  be  composed  of  men  who 
at  once  think  for  themselves,  respect  historical  rec- 
ords, and  listen  fair-mindedly  to  artists  and  experts. 
Ninety-nine  times  out  of  a hundred  you  could  not 
win  your  case,  for  you  would  not  be  allowed  to  plead 
it.  Immediate  economy  would  be  the  order  of  the 
day  at  the  meeting.  B’s  design,  which  cost  only 
one-quarter  as  much  as  A’s,  would  gain  enormously 
in  its  appeal,  so  much,  indeed,  as  to  look  nearly 
as  good  as  A’s;  and  the  commissioners,  sincerely 
desirous  of  doing  right,  would  be  perplexed  by  many 
worrying  conditions.  We  have  said  that  forced  to 
retrenchment  they  are  hesitating  between  the  first- 
rate  artist  A,  whose  work  is  expensive,  and  the 
second-rate  man  B,  whose  services  may  be  had  for 
much  less;  but  if  they  choose  to,  the  commissioners 
may  descend  far  lower  in  the  scale  of  price  and  almost 
as  certainly  of  intrinsic  value. 

At  their  elbow  stand  representatives  of  various 
firms  of  decorators  and  of  department  stores,  say- 
ing, “We  will  do  all  this  work  for  half  B’s  price,” 
and  showing  sketches  dangerously  attractive  to  the 
non-professional,  because  making  up  for  a lack  of 
real  merit  by  a profuse  display  of  detail  and  high 
finish.  Recently  a talented  young  mural  painter 
told  me  that  an  order  for  a decoration  had  been  prac- 
tically given  him,  and  had  been  warmly  approved  by 
the  architect,  when,  at  the  last  moment,  he  lost  it  in 


106  BUILDING  COMMISSIONER 

this  wise.  A department  store  sent  word  to  the  client 
that  if  he  would  buy  all  his  rugs  from  their  firm  they 
would  include  mural  painting  for  the  rooms.  Again, 
the  same  young  artist  had  entered  into  negotiations 
for  the  painting  of  seven  subjects  in  a panelled  room; 
a “decorative”  firm  offered  to  do  twice  as  many 
panels  for  half  the  money.  In  each  case  the  client 
yielded  to  the  temptation  of  a lower  price,  and  in 
each  case  as  well  his  conclusions  may  seem  doubtful 
to  the  unprejudiced  onlooker. 

It  is  perhaps  only  natural  that  the  local  houses 
should  also  sometimes  appeal  to  the  building  com- 
missioner’s patriotism,  saying:  “We  are  local  men; 
give  us  the  work  and  not  a dollar  of  your  taxpayers’ 
money  shall  leave  our  town,  whereas  A comes  from 
New  York,  or  Chicago,  or  Philadelphia,  and  what 
he  receives  will  be  literally  taken  away  from  us.” 

Amid  all  these  specious  appeals  and  counter- 
statements the  commissioners  are  so  harried  that 
compromise  sometimes  ensues;  they  reject  the  work 
of  A,  the  first-rate  artist,  so  that  they  may  economize 
money  for  the  plumbing;  then  they  decline  the  offer 
of  the  department  store,  in  the  interest  of  high  art, 
and  feel  that  by  thus  compromising  they  are,  on  the 
whole,  doing  rather  a handsome  and  artistic  thing  for 
the  public  in  giving  it  the  uninteresting  second-rate 
work  of  B instead  of  fourth-rate  commercial  work 
offered  perhaps  by  a frank  jobber,  or  the  first-rate 
work  of  A.  They  have  made  a deplorable  mistake, 


Barry  Faulkner:  Fragment  of  decoration  in  the  house  of 
Mrs.  E.  H.  Harriman 

Example  of  the  decorative  effect  of  elaborate  detail  carried  out  in  fifteenth-century  style 
and  with  the  heads  treated  as  portraits 


AND  MURAL  PAINTER 


107 


because  they  are  unenlightened,  and  their  public 
will  suffer  for  it  long  after  they,  the  commissioners, 
become  enlightened,  for  it  is  only  enlightenment  which 
they  lack.  The  building  commissioners  are  sincere 
and  patriotic  men,  chosen  for  their  public  spirit  and 
their  business  capacity,  and  both  commission  and 
public  away  down  at  the  bottom  of  their  conscious- 
ness want  the  best  art  in  return  for  their  money. 
Only  the  best  art  is  fit  for  the  decoration  of  the  public 
building,  and  if  you  put  it  straightly  at  them  the 
people  admit  this  at  once,  but  the  bottom  of  their 
artistic  consciousness  can  be  reached  only  by  patient 
sounding,  which  must  be  incessant  if  it  is  to  be  ef- 
fectual against  the  mass  of  misconception  which 
constantly  accumulates  upon  the  surface. 


V 

MUTUALITY  BETWEEN  ARCHITECT 
AND  MURAL  PAINTER 


V 


MUTUALITY  BETWEEN  ARCHITECT 
AND  MURAL  PAINTER 

Besides  the  possession  of  talent  and  experience 
there  must  be  mutuality  of  effort  between  architect 
and  mural  painter.  If  we  can  have  real  co-opera- 
tion, beauty  will  come  after  it  as  surely  as  harvest 
after  seed-time.  But  it  must  be  real;  it  must  not 
resume  itself  in  a mere  suggestion  on  the  part  of 
the  building  committee  that  the  architect  shall 
consult  the  best  talent,  followed  by  his  only  say- 
ing in  turn  to  the  various  painters:  “Now,  I count 
on  you  to  respect  each  other’s  work  and  to  obtain 
an  harmonious  ensemble.”  That  is  not  enough. 
To  begin  with,  the  sculptor  and  painter  must  be- 
lieve in  the  architect  as  commander-in-chief,  leader, 
designer,  and  creator  of  a whole,  which  they  are 
to  enhance  as  a whole  by  their  art;  and  again 
they  must  see  in  him  the  planner  of  interrelated 
parts  whose  interrelations  they  must  help,  not 
hinder. 

I have  heard  painters  say:  “What  does  an  archi- 


iii 


1 12  MUTUALITY  BETWEEN  ARCHITECT 


tect  know  about  painting  ?”  Now  the  architect,  in 
spite  of  his  general  knowledge,  is,  like  the  painter, 
a specialist,  and  therefore  is  forced  to  neglect  much 
that  pertains  to  painting  because  he  has  not  had 
time  to  learn  it.  But  I am  certain  that  if  any  com- 
petent mural  painter  will  take  pains  to  show  things 
in  the  right  way,  he  will  be  understood  in  the  right 
way  by  the  architect.  The  trouble  is  that  each 
branch  of  a profession  has  a technical  jargon  of  its 
own,  unfamiliar  to  the  practitioners  of  the  two 
sister  branches;  but  all  that  applies  specially  to 
either  sculpture  or  painting  can  be  reduced  to 
terms  which  are  understood  by  architect,  painter, 
and  sculptor  alike,  and  which  may  constitute  a kind 
of  artistic  Volapiik — a common  language,  like  the 
mediaeval  Latin  of  the  church. 

We  have  thus  far  done  fairly  well  in  decorative 
painting  in  America,  but  we  have  made  some  mis- 
takes, and  our  worst  errors  have  arisen  from  lack  of 
proper  co-operation,  which  has  come,  not  from  a 
want  of  honest  enthusiasm  or  individual  knowledge, 
but  because  a certain  comprehension  has  been  want- 
ing. It  has  been  stated  over  and  over  again  from 
the  beginning  that  architect,  sculptor,  and  painter 
must  work  together  in  the  sense  of  producing  a 
mutual  result,  but  it  has  not  been  realized  that  the 
three  minds  must,  for  a time  at  least,  work  simul- 
taneously and  intercommunicatively — that  the  three 
men  must  agree  to  all  give  up  some  of  their  time  at 


CO  p 

cs  o 


Copyright  by  the  city  of  Yonkers 


AND  MURAL  PAINTER 


113 

the  same  time  to  the  problem.  The  architect  is 
almost  sure  to  be  foreseeing  and  resourceful,  but  he 
cannot  be  in  two  places  at  once  and  there  are  con- 
tingencies which  no  man  can  foresee.  He  needs  not 
only  the  support  of  his  staff,  but  their  constant 
watchful  effort. 

And  the  co-operation  should  begin  at  the  begin- 
ning. I would  have  the  painter  as  well  as  the 
sculptor  go  with  the  architect  to  the  quarry  when 
the  stone  is  selected,  so  that  he,  the  architect, 
the  director,  in  company  with  the  sculptor  and 
painter,  his  aids,  shall  see  and  know  just  what  char- 
acter of  color,  what  tone  and  depth  the  three  shall 
have  to  calculate  upon  in  their  various  results.  For 
if  it  is  the  business  of  the  expert  to  know  the  dur- 
ability of  the  marble,  and  that  of  the  architect  to 
determine  its  effect  of  line  and  mass,  scale  and  pro- 
portion, it  is  the  business  of  the  painter  to  say  what 
color  effect  it  may  produce  and  what  it  may  call  for 
in  other  marbles.  And  I would  have  this  little 
federation  go  further  afield:  to  the  artist  who  puts 
on  the  gold,  and  the  artist  who  carves  the  wood,  and 
the  artists  who  make  the  glass  and  weave  the  carpet. 
That  they  are  on  the  general  staff  we  have  said, 
and  that  they  are  consulted;  but  to-day  they  too 
often  remain  in  their  tents  till  the  battle  is  engaged 
and  half  over.  I would  have  them  ride  not  only 
into  the  pitched  field,  but  also,  and  above  all,  in 
reconnoissance  to  spy  out  the  land  before  the  battle. 


1 14  MUTUALITY  BETWEEN  ARCHITECT 


Indeed,  the  carrying  through  of  the  ensemble  and 
details  of  a great  building  should  be  done  almost 
under  martial  law.  Woe  to  him  who  is  undisciplined. 
If  a man  cannot  subordinate  himself  let  him  keep 
out  of  mural  painting.  All  art  is  a convention  and 
is  under  restraint — most  of  all  is  decorative  art  so; 
and  if  an  artist  is  big  enough  he  cannot  give  better 
proof  of  his  power  than  in  compelling  the  relation 
of  his  work  to  be  harmonious  with  its  surroundings, 
while  he  yet  remains  himself. 

We  have  proceeded  rightly  up  to  a certain  point 
in  decoration,  but  not  far  enough.  To-day  the 
architect  of  the  State  capitol  of  Cloudland,  let  us 
call  it,  selects  six  mural  painters  to  decorate  his 
building,  and  allots  to  them  his  various  wall  spaces. 
The  artists  make  their  rough  sketches,  the  archi- 
tect convenes  them,  they  mutually  compare  their 
work,  and  sincerely  declare  that  they  will  do  every- 
thing that  they  can  to  work  harmoniously. 

Almost  at  once  starts  the  train  of  circumstances 
which  interrupts  their  willingness  and  interferes 
with  their  harmony.  A is  very  busy  finishing  a 
canvas  for  another  State;  he  cannot  commence  his 
decoration  for  some  months.  B,  on  the  contrary, 
must  begin  his  at  once,  since  he  has  engagements  for 
the  future  which  compel  immediate  action  unless 
he  would  indefinitely  postpone  his  Cloudland  work. 
C has  a room  or  wall  space  or  corridor  midway  be- 
tween the  decorations  of  A and  B.  If  the  vision 


AND  MURAL  PAINTER 


ii5 

can  embrace  these  three  decorations  or  even  portions 
of  the  three  at  the  same  time,  it  is  essential  that  C’s 
work  should  harmonize  with  and  unite  that  of  the 
other  two  painters. 

A proceeds  with  his  decoration;  after  a while  B, 
who  has  also  commenced  his  work  and  carried  it 
well  forward,  goes  to  see  A,  and  says  in  great  sur- 
prise: “But  A,  the  sketch  you  showed  at  the  archi- 
tect’s office  was  in  a cool  gray  key;  I have  been 
treating  my  decoration  in  harmony  with  your  sketch, 
and  now  you  are  working  in  a warm  orange  key 
upon  your  large  canvas!”  “Yes,”  replies  A,  “I  sud- 
denly discovered  that  they  were  going  to  exchange 
the  gray  Circassian  walnut  of  my  wooden  furnish- 
ings for  a very  red  mahogany.”  “But  how  does  it 
happen  that  you  had  no  warning?”  “Well,  the  archi- 
tect was  called  away  to  the  west  on  business,  and 
A B & Co.,  the  decorative  firm,  who  are  in  charge 
of  the  woodwork,  changed  their  mind  about  the 
latter.” 

Or,  Mr.  C has  been  told  that  his  room  will  get 
little  light  because  of  the  thick  stained  glass  of  rather 
dark  warm  tones.  He  therefore  paints  his  decoration 
in  flat  planes  of  brilliant  color  exactly  suited  to  such 
a twilight  effect.  When  it  is  finished  and  he  brings 
it  to  its  place  he  finds  twice  as  much  light  as  he  ex- 
pected and  pale  transparent  glass  in  the  cupola. 
His  own  colors,  which  would  have  been  just  right 
for  the  room  as  first  planned,  are  now  strident,  his 


ii 6 MUTUALITY  BETWEEN  ARCHITECT 


effect  spoiled.  He  protests  and  the  glassmaker 
replies:  “The  building  commission  insisted  that 
they  must  have  more  light.  There  was  nothing  to 
do  but  to  humor  their  insistence.” 

Or  Mr.  C D composes  his  decoration  and  has 
half  finished  it  when  some  one  remarks:  “By  the 
way,  they  will  have  to  set  a ventilator  in  the  middle 
of  your  wall.” 

These  are  only  a few  instances  among  very  many 
difficulties  which  may  unexpectedly  present  them- 
selves. Is  it  the  fault  of  the  architect?  No,  not 
more  than  it  is  the  fault  of  any  and  all  of  us  that 
we  do  not  quite  realize  what  an  enormously  difficult 
and  complicated  problem  we  have  before  us  in  a 
great  building,  nor  enough  consider  that,  while  the 
architect  must  be  argus-eyed,  his  staff  too  must  re- 
member their  responsibility  not  only  to  him  and  to 
their  own  work,  but  to  every  one  of  the  many  artists 
in  stone,  glass,  bronze,  pavement,  mural  painting, 
whose  work  in  any  way  abuts  upon  theirs.  It  may 
be  impossible  to  prevent  some  mischances,  but  at 
least  an  elaborate  plan  of  campaign  should  do  much 
toward  forestalling  some  of  the  changes,  and  a 
united  front  of  many  artists  opposing  a decision  of 
the  building  com'missioners  (besides  taking  some 
responsibility  off  the  architect’s  shoulders)  might  go 
far  toward  preventing  unwisdom.  And  such  op- 
position would,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  not  displease 
the  building  commissioners,  since  the  latter  are 


AND  MURAL  PAINTER 


ii  7 

really  seeking  for  the  best  solution  of  their  problem, 
and  are  glad  to  avoid  change  as  being  costly. 

In  some  few  cases  this  mutual  federation  of  archi- 
tect, sculptor,  and  painter  has  been  tried,  and  found 
to  work  so  well  that  it  has  been  continued  after  the 
completion  of  the  building,  continued  in  the  form  of 
a permanent  advisory  art  committee,  whose  duty  is 
to  protect  the  building  from  any  unwise  additions  or 
changes. 

That  there  is  need  of  such  advisory  work  we  have 
had  abundant  evidence.  I will  note  one  instance: 
In  a certain  great  building  by  one  of  our  best-known 
architects,  a room  was  decorated  with  painting  and 
sculpture  at  much  expense.  The  effect  depended  in 
the  main  upon  several  large  wall  panels  of  smooth 
simple  stone.  These  panels,  surrounded  by  rich 
sculpture,  gave  repose  to  the  eye,  and  were  the  nat- 
ural complement  and  foil  to  the  ceiling  and  upper 
walls,  which  were  elaborately  decorated  with  paint- 
ings, relief,  and  gold.  The  building  commission,  de- 
lighted with  the  room,  showed  it  with  pride  and 
celebrated  it  in  print. 

After  a while  they  filled  the  panels  with  full- 
length  portraits  of  gentlemen  in  black  clothes  and 
surrounded  by  heavy  gilt  frames.  They  thereby 
utterly  ruined  the  effect  which  the  architect  had 
planned.  The  portraits,  if  properly  panelled  into 
the  right  kind  of  a wall  in  another  room,  might  have 
produced  an  admirable  result.  As  they  are  now 
they  spoil  the  effect  of  the  stone,  and  are  in  turn 


1 1 8 MUTUALITY  BETWEEN  ARCHITECT 


themselves  spoiled  by  the  light  stone  about  them, 
which  makes  such  a background  as  their  painters 
would  never  have  selected. 

You  say  these  gentlemen  must  be  dull.  Not  so, 
they  are  among  the  most  intelligent  men  in  the 
community,  and  were  honestly  enthusiastic,  to  be- 
gin with,  about  their  room.  The  result  of  their  action 
has  been  the  almost  complete  cancellation  of  the 
value  received  from  their  artists.  If  such  a cancel- 
lation had  taken  place  in  any  other  part  of  their 
building,  in  their  transaction  of  business,  that  is, 
and  such  depreciation  had  resulted  they  would  have 
bestirred  themselves  at  once,  but  it  has  not  occurred 
to  them  that  this  matter  could  be  of  importance. 
They  wanted  portraits  of  their  colleagues,  and, 
having  them,  simply  ordered  them  to  be  put  into 
the  finest  room,  and  where  they  could  see  them  well 
— then  thought  no  more  of  it.  Had  an  advisory 
committee  of  architect,  sculptor,  and  painter  said  to 
them,  “But,  gentlemen,  your  portraits  will  kill  the 
room,  and  the  room  will  kill  the  portraits,”  I cannot 
help  believing  that  they  would  have  renounced  their 
project,  and  thus  advisory  stimulus  would  have 
helped  to  bring  about  mutual  action  between  artist 
and  client;  in  fact,  would  have  helped  to  raise  and 
maintain  a standard  of  taste. 

In  this  effort  toward  mutuality,  vital  to  the  suc- 
cess of  any  great  enterprise  in  decoration,  the  archi- 
tect is  then  essentially  the  head  and  commander-in- 


the  United  States  Custom-House,  New  York  City 

An  example  of  landscape  treated  historically  and  decoratively 


AND  MURAL  PAINTER 


119 

chief.  He  designs  the  building  and  assigns  to  each 
sculptor  and  painter  his  place  in  it.  But  if  this  is 
his  unquestionable  right  it  is  also  his  privilege  to 
expect  and  to  receive  authoritative  assistance  from 
both  sculptor  and  painter,  not  only  as  their  work 
progresses,  but  even  before  it  begins.  In  a general 
way  he,  the  architect,  knows  beforehand  what  man- 
ner of  man  is  suited  to  some  special  work,  but  in  a 
particular  way  that  man,  once  selected,  knows  in 
turn  how  to  fit  his  own  temperament  to  that  work 
and  how  he  may  best  suggest  amplification  or  elab- 
oration of  it.  The  architect,  burdened  with  the 
great  weight  of  his  responsibility,  has  a right  to  de- 
mand that  the  painters  and  sculptors  shall  minimize 
that  weight  by  intimate  and  patient  collaboration. 

Our  educational  institutions  have  no  worthier 
task  before  them  along  the  lines  of  art  than  the  prep- 
aration of  men  who  shall  learn  how  to  help  toward 
this  end  and  be  willing  to  help  at  some  sacrifice. 
For  the  untrained  worker  is  a burden  to  the  archi- 
tect; the  man  who  knows  and  will  use  his  knowl- 
edge reasonably  and  patiently  is  a blessing.  On  the 
other  hand,  to  the  advice  of  the  trained  sculptor 
and  mural  painter  the  architect,  master  and  com- 
mander though  he  be,  may,  indeed  must,  at  times, 
listen  as  to  the  sister  arts  speaking  with  authority. 

Architect,  sculptor,  and  painter  have  each  re- 
ceived a special  training  during  which,  if  they  are 
wise,  they  will  have  carefully  considered  the  kin- 


i2o  MUTUALITY  BETWEEN  ARCHITECT 


dred  lines  of  the  sister  branches  of  their  art;  yet  each 
remains  essentially  architect,  or  sculptor,  or  painter, 
and  certain  details,  even  certain  principles,  familiar 
to  one  of  his  two  comrades  will  be  unfamiliar,  per- 
haps unnoticed  by  him,  till  his  collaborator  notes 
them  and  formulates  them  from  the  point  of  view  of 
his  own  particular  expertism.  I have  seen  an  other- 
wise clever  painter  so  arrange  his  panel  in  reference 
to  surrounding  members  of  the  wall  that  the  archi- 
tect said,  with  reason:  “But  this  is  impossible.” 
In  such  a case  the  painter  must  alter  his  work.  On 
the  other  hand,  now  and  then,  even  if  rarely,  an 
architect  has  put  in  a detail  of  color  which  any 
painter  at  his  elbow  would  have  forbidden. 

And  when  I say  a detail  I mean  hundreds  of  feet 
of  marble  which  cost  thousands  of  dollars.  In  the 
beginning,  and  when  the  order  was  given,  it  would 
have  cost  ten  words  to  make  it  right.  After  the 
mistake  was  made  it  would  have  taken  prohibit- 
ory time  and  cost  prohibitory  money  to  rectify  it. 
The  greatest  artists  are  capable  of  solecisms  and  errors 
along  lines  akin  to,  but  not  identical  with,  their  own. 
A little  consultation  would  obviate  such  mistakes, 
and  we  do  not  want  the  blunders  even  of  a Michel- 
angelo when  they  can  be  avoided.  And  blunders 
he  did  make — they  all  made  them — Bramante  and 
Raphael  and  Leonardo  made  them  just  as  we  do, 
only  theirs  were  blunders  of  men  who  lived  in  an 
age  of  great  art,  and  at  the  same  time  they  made 


AND  MURAL  PAINTER 


1 21 


masterpieces,  setting  lessons  to  an  admiring  world. 
When  Michelangelo  painted  the  “Last  Judgment,” 
he  botched  the  joining  and  gravely  injured  the 
architectonic  effect  of  the  chapel,  but  he  is  Michel- 
angelo, and  we  are  glad  to  take  him  in  exchange  for 
Perugino.  Correggio’s  angels  are  strangely  out  of 
character  with  the  grand  austere  Romanesque  shell 
of  the  cathedral  at  Parma,  but  Romanesque  churches 
are  many — Correggio’s  ecstatic  outburst  is  unique. 

For  that  matter,  disturbance,  arising  from  the  in- 
troduction of  new  and  changed  methods,  has  been 
inevitable  where  the  theatre  of  performance  has 
existed  for  five  hundred  years,  and  the  sixteenth- 
century  artist  had  to  paint  within  a yard  or  two 
of  the  work  of  the  tre  cento.  History  repeats  itself, 
and  in  the  future,  when  there  shall  arise  better- 
equipped  artists  than  those  of  to-day,  anachronistic 
additions  may  again  be  welcome.  But  in  the  pres- 
ent it  is  for  us  to  do  our  work  so  faithfully  and  so 
thoughtfully  as  to  make  that  future  remote. 


VI 

MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


VI 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 

I 

The  relations  of  the  mural  painter  with  the  build- 
ing commissioner  and  with  the  architect  have  been 
discussed  in  preceding  chapters.  We  come  now  to 
the  relations  of  mural  painters  with  each  other,  and 
to  the  thorniest  and  most  delicate  question  in  the 
range  of  decoration — the  question  of  precedence. 
Thorny  though  it  be,  if  it  is  grasped  as  one  would 
grasp  a nettle  and  by  a hand  which  wears  the  gaunt- 
let of  assured  experience — difficult  though  it  be,  if 
it  is  approached  with  tact  and  adhered  to  with 
patience  the  problem  can  be  solved. 

It  is  a prodigious  problem,  indeed;  nothing  less 
than  to  compel  into  accord  various  temperaments 
of  men  who  control  not  only  the  design  and  coloring 
of  pictured  panels  and  mosaics,  but  of  ornament, 
rich  or  severe,  toning  of  gold,  patina  of  bronze, 
depth  or  clearness  of  glass,  design  and  color  of  pave- 
ments, selection  of  rugs,  and  very  much  besides. 

First  must  come  the  wise  distribution  of  this  work, 

125 


126  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


then  the  harmonious  conduct  of  it.  If  even  the 
artists  of  the  culminating  epoch  made  mistakes,  what 
procedure  shall  we  follow  to  minimize  our  errors? 

Let  us  consider  this  question  of  distribution.  In 
the  largest  sense  all  branches  of  art  are  equally 
great  and  important;  all  have  certain  vital  princi- 
ples in  common,  as  well  as  much  detail  of  procedure. 
Decoration  (mural  painting  or  decorative  sculpture) 
is,  however,  essentially  different  from  the  others  in 
some  respects;  primarily  in  this,  that  it  is  based, 
rooted  even,  upon  and  in  sacrifice. 

The  end  and  aim  of  it  is  the  beauty  which  can 
come  only  from  harmony,  and  for  the  sake  of  that 
harmony  the  artists  must  constantly  repress  them- 
selves, hold  themselves  back,  sacrifice  themselves. 
In  other  branches  of  art  and  under  other  circum- 
stances, in  an  annual  exhibition  of  pictures  for  in- 
stance, it  is  perfectly  legitimate,  though  not  always 
desirable,  to  force  an  effect  in  one’s  own  work  so 
far  that  beside  it  juxtaposed  canvases  might  appear 
weak  and  secondary.  In  the  decoration  of  a room 
where  there  is  collaboration  between  two  or  more 
persons,  things  are  different,  the  chief  desideratum 
in  decoration  being  the  production  of  a harmonious 
whole.  If  one  collaborator  tries  to  make  himself 
conspicuous  by  the  display  of  a more  forcible  per- 
sonality than  that  of  his  fellow,  he  becomes  danger- 
ous— virtuosity,  a quality  desirable  per  se,  may  swell 
into  a disturbing  note.  Direct  rivalry,  then,  being 


Jules  Guerin:  Interior  of  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad  Station,  with  men 
working  at  the  decorative  maps 

An  example  of  topography  made  decorative  and  used  as  part  of  a decorative  ensemble 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  127 


perilous,  how  shall  we  reduce  its  proportions  with  a 
view  to  obtaining  a good  general  result? 

The  consideration  of  this  difficult  question  may  be 
divided  into  two  main  questions,  which  in  turn  are 
subject  to  much  subdivision.  The  first  is  the  prob- 
lem of  setting  two  or  more  painters  at  work  in  the 
same  room.  This  is  at  once  reduced  to  minimal 
proportions  by  the  fact  that  few  rooms  are  so  exten- 
sive and  contain  so  many  places  for  important  mural 
painting  as  to  require  more  than  one  man  to  execute 
the  latter. 

But  there  are  parts  of  a great  building  so  vast  and 
complicated  that  one  man  could  not  decorate  them 
within  any  reasonable  time.  A typical  example  is 
that  in  which  the  great  central  dome  grows  upon  its 
pendentives  from  piers  and  lower  walls,  and  termi- 
nates in  the  dome-crown  or  lantern.  Where  such  an 
example  occurs,  the  prodigious  gestation  of  a huge 
public  building  may  compel  the  evolution  of  twins, 
triplets,  or  even  a quartet  of  artists.  In  such  a case 
twins  they  must  be  as  far  as  possible;  that  is  to  say, 
men  chosen  because  of  their  mutual  resemblance  in 
predisposition,  aims,  and  methods. 

To  discover  such  yoke-fellows  is  pretty  nearly  as 
hard  as  to  find  the  proverbial  white  blackbird,  yet 
they  have  been  found  now  and  again,  and  have 
worked  together  with  relative  success.  In  the  past 
there  have  been  many  examples  of  such  fortunate 
juxtaposition  (for  instance,  the  church  of  Santa  Maria 
at  Saronno  where  Luini,  Lanini,  and  Ferrari  fill 


128  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


dome  and  pendentives  and  walls  with  their  com- 
positions). But  the  art  of  bygone  times  was  more 
of  a kind  than  ours  is.  The  schools  which  grew  up 
by  the  Ilyssus  and  the  Arno  were  far  less  confused 
by  visions  of  outlying  fields  of  endeavor  than  are  we 
who  are  at  once  beneficiaries  and  victims  of  a pro- 
digious art-inheritance.  Even  the  Italians,  for  all 
their  homogeneity,  have  left  us  in  their  churches  and 
palaces  many  examples  of  what  to  avoid.  Time, 
that  kindest  of  over-painters,  who  uses  glazes  and 
scumbling  rather  than  solid  colors,  has  done  much  to 
harmonize;  but  in  spite  of  him  some  of  their  juxta- 
positions are  shocking  even  to-day,  and  when  the 
recklessly  imtemperate  crowding  of  pictures,  prac- 
tised in  the  late  sixteenth  century,  is  added,  the 
spectator  is  giddy  and  worse  than  surfeited  in  such 
churches,  say,  as  Santa  Caterina  of  Venice. 

We  in  America,  young  and  inexperienced  as  we  are, 
have  committed  no  such  glaring  faults  of  taste  as 
are  found  in  many  Italian  buildings;  indeed,  the 
painting  of  realistic  landscapes  upon  piers  (!)  in  the 
modern  Hotel  de  Ville  of  Paris  is  an  innovation 
which  has  fortunately  not  been  emulated  by  any 
American.  In  fact,  for  our  own  comfort  we  might 
multiply  instances  to  show  that  while  the  heights 
scaled  by  Italian  decorators  may  be  unattainable  by 
modern  men,  the  depths  of  false  taste  into  which 
the  later  Italians  descended  have  not  been  sounded 
by  our  comparatively  unsophisticated  painters. 

History  then  proves  collaboration  to  be  exacting. 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  129 


What  is  the  lesson  of  this?  It  is  that,  since  artists 
are  human — and  we  all  naturally  and  instinctively 
try  to  show  our  personality — and  since  collaboration 
cannot  be  dispensed  with  in  public  buildings,  it 
must  be  carefully  considered,  and  so  carried  out 
that  there  shall  be  the  least  possible  loss  of  indi- 
viduality on  the  part  of  the  collaborators,  but  that 
when  all  is  said  and  done  harmony  must  result. 

Now,  the  practice  of  collaboration  is  no  easy 
matter;  human  nature  at  once  takes  a hand  and 
makes  it  a very  difficult  one.  Where  there  are  even 
two  collaborators  there  is  some  loss  of  power,  since 
each  has  to  bend  his  own  temperament  a little  to- 
ward the  united  purpose;  if  there  are  three,  the  case 
is  still  more  trying;  if  there  are  ten,  all  have  to  hold 
themselves  down,  to  a certain  extent,  to  the  level  of 
the  least  able  man  in  the  group. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  so  wholesale  a sacrifice  upon 
the  altar  of  collaboration  would  victimize  not  only 
those  offered  up,  but  the  public  as  well — it  would  re- 
sult in  stultification.  What  are  we  going  to  do  to 
avoid  it?  This — give  just  as  much  as  possible  of 
the  work  within  the  radius  of  vision  to  one  man. 
Such  a proceeding  is  in  large  part  feasible  in  any 
great  building.  There  are,  as  we  have  said  before, 
always  many  separate  rooms;  these  can  be  given 
each  to  one  temperament;  that  is  to  say,  to  one 
artist. 

There  are  other  places  in  the  building  which  are 


1 3o  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


not  really  separate  rooms,  yet  which  are  so  subdi- 
vided into  different  parts  by  connecting  corridors 
or  vestibules  that,  if  they  were  decorated  by  different 
painters,  the  passage  from  the  result  of  one  artistic 
temperament  to  that  of  another  could  be  made 
without  mental  disturbance.  In  such  portions  of 
the  building  two  or  more  men  may  work  advanta- 
geously. Again,  there  are  spaces  so  vast  and  hav- 
ing such  complicated  parts  (I  have  cited  a central 
rotunda)  that  it  becomes  impossible  to  give  all  the 
work  to  one  man;  he  would  not  have  time  to  do  it 
properly  in  the  period  allowed  by  contract.  In 
such  a case  the  problem  of  distribution  should  be 
considered  with  reference  not  so  much  to  the  repu- 
tation and  rank  of  the  persons  chosen  as  to  their 
temperamental  capacity  for  working  together. 

We  artists  all  know  that  there  are  men  with  whom 
we  can  work,  and  others,  equally  good,  with  whom 
we  cannot . There  are  painters  whose  canvases  would 
harmonize  fairly  well  from  the  start;  given  good- 
will, the  harmony  could  be  made  greater  as  the  work 
advanced.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  those  whose 
temperaments,  as  shown  in  their  work,  differ  so 
much  that  we  feel  from  the  beginning  the  useless- 
ness, even  the  danger,  of  yoking  them. 

There  are  men  who  carefully  prepare  their  whole 
scheme  beforehand;  with  them  you  know  exactly 
what  you  are  going  to  get.  Such  artists  are  rela- 
tively safe,  but  their  inelasticity  has  to  be  reckoned 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  13 1 


with.  Again,  we  have  those  who  also  prepare  an 
elaborate  scheme,  but,  realizing  that  each  problem 
may  be  a new  one,  make  experiments  and  changes, 
and  usually  better  their  work  as  they  proceed. 
Lastly,  there  are  artists  who  are  natural  improvi- 
sators; their  decoration  is  perforce  an  impromptu. 
Such  men  may  prove  most  brilliant  of  all,  but  it 
is  almost  impossible  for  them  to  work  with  others, 
because,  as  they  present  no  scheme  beforehand,  the 
others,  and  they  themselves,  are  at  a disadvantage 
as  far  as  harmony  goes.  Where  you  have  such  a 
man  you  must  give  him  a room  to  himself;  then 
you  may  obtain  a brilliant  result. 

When,  therefore,  a part  of  a building  which  can- 
not be  given  to  one  artist  is  distributed  among  sev- 
eral, I believe  that  the  collaborators  should  meet, 
present  their  schemes  in  common,  choose  one  of  their 
number  to  be  dictator  as  to  essentials,  and  obey  him. 
For  if  several  men  without  a leader  or  preliminary 
mutual  practice  attack  the  dragon  of  difficulty  to- 
gether they  will  hamper  each  other;  two  of  them 
will  waste  a stroke  at  the  same  time;  they  will  even 
fall  over  each  other.  If,  on  the  contrary,  the  dic- 
tator has  three  qualities — firmness,  tact,  and  knowl- 
edge— the  result  will  be  satisfactory.  If  there  is  not 
some  such  leadership  there  are  three  chances  to 
one  that  the  decoration  will  not  hang  together  and 
that  the  architect  will  be  disheartened.  Collective 
unwisdom  has  more  than  once  unmade  plans  which 


I32  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


a little  more  mutual  action  would  have  brought  to 
fruition.  Wherever  it  is  possible  the  painter  should 
act  directly  under  the  architect.  I,  personally,  should 
vastly  prefer  to  do  so,  but  if  I must  be  part  of  a 
general  scheme  in  which  others  share,  and  if  the  ar- 
chitect is  not  able  to  give  constant  and  close  super- 
vision, I should  like  to  see  a director  chosen  and 
should  then  follow  him  loyally  or  else  drop  out  of 
the  scheme.  And  if  a man  have  originality  he  can 
show  it  even  while  conforming  to  direction. 

Even  in  one  room  where  the  vision  is  distinctly 
bounded  by  four  walls,  since  painting  is  apt  not  to  be 
the  sole  form  of  decoration  employed,  several  tem- 
peraments are  apt  to  come  in  contact  although  one 
be  in  control;  and  just  in  measure  as  that  controller 
is  able  to  control  himself  as  well  as  others,  just  in 
measure  as  he  is  able  to  understand  and  consider  the 
strong  and  weak  points  of  his  collaborators,  will  his 
result  be  fortunate. 

He  is  having  abundant  trouble  with  his  own  per- 
sonal equation,  but  it  will  be  complicated  by  the 
working  of  other  personal  equations  at  his  elbow — by 
those  of  the  men  who  are  designing  bronze  electrical 
fixtures,  who  are  composing  a tessellated  pavement, 
who  are  setting  the  stained-glass  windows.  Some- 
times neither  sculpture  nor  painting  distinctly  dom- 
inates in  a great  room,  but  the  two  have  a parity  of 
importance  as  decorative  elements;  in  such  a case 
sculptor  and  painter  must  proceed  with  infinite  cau- 


William  Laurel  Harris:  Example  of  the  laying  out,  in  the  Church  of  St. 
Paul  the  Apostle,  New  York,  of  a decoration  which  is  being  executed  in 
color,  gold,  and  relief 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  133 


tion  and  mutual  consideration  so  as  neither  to  harm 
each  other  nor  have  to  put  their  own  temperaments 
into  strait-jackets.  It  is  probable  that  building 
commissioners  and  public  alike  have  not  realized  that 
the  problem  of  the  creation  of  a public  building  is 
to  be  approached  with  respect  which  should  amount 
to  reverence,  for  the  successful  accomplishment  of 
such  a creation  sets  the  capstone  on  achievement. 
And  this  is  why  decoration  as  a disciplinary  field  is 
unsurpassed  by  any  other  in  the  whole  range  of 
painting. 

II 

All  the  different  branches  of  art  interlace  at  cer- 
tain points,  and  all  are  wide  apart  at  certain  others. 
Mural  painting  differs  most  from  its  sister  branches 
in  this  respect — as  has  been  already  insisted — in 
decoration  it  is  not  so  much  individuality  of  expres- 
sion as  mutual  effort  that  is  essential.  There  is  a 
corollary  to  this  statement,  and  a very  important 
one,  which  sounds  paradoxical  but  is  true — it  is  only 
through  this  mutuality  of  effort  pushed  and  per- 
fected that  the  highest  individuality  of  expression 
in  decoration  is  attained.  The  Parthenon,  the  church 
of  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  the  Borgia  apartments  of 
the  Vatican,  the  Stanze  of  Raphael,  the  Anticollegio 
of  the  Ducal  Palace,  the  halls  and  churches  painted 
by  Tiepolo  are  so  individual  in  their  effect,  their 
forcefulness,  that  we  have  only  to  close  our  eyes 


i34  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


to  see  them  standing  out  as  landmarks  of  historic, 
aesthetic  sequence. 

But  to  the  production  of  this  individual  effect 
have  contributed  a subordination  and  merging  of  the 
personalities,  the  individualities  of  the  artists  con- 
cerned, the  architects,  sculptors,  painters,  carvers, 
gilders,  mosaic  men,  glass  men,  that  can  be  under- 
stood fully  only  by  him  who  is  at  once  a student  of 
history  and  a practitioner  of  decoration. 

Perhaps  the  completest  example  of  subordination 
of  individuality,  of  mutuality  of  effort,  may  be  found 
in  the  mediaeval  cathedral,  where  Guillaume  and 
Etienne  planned  and  built  side  by  side,  and  Jean 
began  the  sculptured  story  which  Jacques  continued 
and  Pierre  finished,  and  Roger  and  Henri  placed  the 
trefoils  and  hexafoils  of  glass,  and  Francis  and 
Blaise  braided  stone  flowers  about  the  capital  or  set 
the  portal  ablooming. 

And  all  harmoniously,  so  harmoniously  that  they 
forgot  themselves  and  were  forgotten  in  their  work. 
When  all  was  done  and  a minster  stood  as  the 
result,  if  we  are  asked  who  created  it  we  have  to 
answer:  “Master  So  and  So,  John  or  James  or  Will- 
iam, of  Chartres  or  Amiens  or  Bourges.”  Such  a 
forgetfulness  of  names  could  not  obtain  to-day,  not 
only  because  a printed  record  is  in  every  one  s 
hands,  but  also  for  many  other  reasons.  And  it  is 
not  essential  or  even  desirable  that  names  should  be 
forgotten,  but  it  is  desirable,  and  it  is  essential, 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  135 


that  a near  approach  to  the  harmony  and  self- 
sacrifice  of  the  cathedral-builders  shall  be  made 
if  we  are  to  do  first-rate  decoration. 

And  this  sacrifice  must  be  shared  by  all  of  us.  I 
have  already  once  quoted  the  man  who  said  to  me: 
“The  trouble  with  American  painters  is  exactly  the 
same  as  with  the  business  men;  they  don’t  work 
hard  enough.”  Now  our  artists,  our  architects  es- 
pecially, do  work  pretty  hard,  but  perhaps  even 
the  architects  do  not  always  work  hard  enough  at 
mutuality  of  effort  with  the  sculptors  and  mural 
painters.  This  reflection,  however,  is  a boomerang; 
it  comes  back  and  hits  us  mural  painters  even 
harder  than  it  does  the  architects,  for  we  mural 
painters  certainly  lack  strenuousness  in  mutual 
effort;  but  it  hits  the  architects  first.  They  do  not, 
except  in  rare  cases,  pay  enough  of  their  time  and 
thought,  which  is  the  same  thing  as  their  money, 
to  this  problem  of  mutuality  with  those  who  work 
under  them  as  decorative  sculptors  and  painters. 

It  is  hard  to  solve — this  problem — but  until  it  is 
solved  we  architects,  painters,  and  sculptors  shall 
not  be  solvent  ourselves;  in  questions  of  decoration 
we  shall  be  always  on  the  brink  of  bankruptcy. 

Ill 

In  discussing  the  problem  of  mutuality,  let  us 
examine  somewhat  the  procedure  which  has  so  far 


1 36  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


been  followed  by  our  practitioners.  I have  said  at 
the  beginning  of  this  chapter  that  the  determination 
of  precedence  is  a troublesome  one.  To-day  two 
artists  are  often  set  at  work  together  in  one  room 
in  a way  which  perhaps  does  more  to  retard  the 
progress  of  true  decoration  than  any  other  half-dozen 
hindrances.  Why  has  this  happened?  Partly  by 
reason  of  historical  and  chronological  conditions 
which  could  not  be  helped  and  can  be  only  gradually 
adjusted,  partly,  I think,  by  the  action  of  architects 
who  have  not  sufficiently  studied  the  situation. 

Let  me  try  to  illustrate  in  detail.  It  is  proba- 
ble that  any  architect  contemplating  the  decoration 
of  his  building  dreads  the  changes  which  his  de- 
sign may  be  forced  to  undergo  when  the  sculptor 
and  painter  place  their  work.  He,  the  architect, 
is  commander-in-chief;  he  knows  that  well  enough, 
and  indicates  the  spots  where  each  bit  of  sculpture 
or  painting  shall  occur.  Nevertheless  he  is  some- 
times a little  nervous,  and,  like  a wise  architect 
whom  I have  known,  says  to  himself:  “For  God’s 
sake  don’t  let’s  have  any  features .”  He  very  nat- 
urally does  not  wish  to  have  the  design  of  his 
room,  as  it  were,  warped  out  of  shape  by  a mural 
painter  who  should  manage  to  focalize  all  attention 
upon  some  prodigious  bit  of  virtuosity  either  in 
color  or  handling.  The  architect’s  preoccupation  as 
to  this  is  thoroughly  artistic.  He  is  wholly  right, 
and  yet  he  is  often  the  cause  of  his  own  anxiety. 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  137 


He  is  averse  to  features,  yet  frequently  has  designed 
his  room  in  such  a way  that  features  are  the  only 
thing  which  the  mural  painter  can  put  there. 

The  architect  has  made  a design  for  his  room,  often 
a very  beautiful  one — marble  panels  between  pilas- 
ters or  behind  pillars  cover  the  walls;  and  he  says 
to  the  painter:  “I  have  left  a big  space  in  such  a 
place  (lunette  or  rectangle,  or  what  may  be),  which, 
it  seems  to  me,  would  afford  a capital  chance  for 
a mural  painting. ”*  The  artist  is  delighted  to  have 
a panel  in  so  beautiful  a room;  he  paints  it,  and  there 
it  is,  perforce,  a feature!  It  is  the  one  piece  of  figure- 
painting in  the  room;  nothing  of  its  own  kind  leads 
up  to  it;  nothing  leads  away  from  it;  elsewhere  is 
marble,  bronze,  gilding;  in  that  one  spot  are  figures 
of  men  and  women;  no  wonder  the  eye  travels 
thither  and  rests  too  long,  and  thus  the  design  of  the 
architect  is  warped,  as  I said,  out  of  shape.  What 
the  mural  painter  who  has  a true  grasp  upon  his 
task  would  like  is  this — he  would  like  to  see  the 
architect’s  sketch  for  the  room  as  soon  as  completed, 
and  to  say  to  him:  “Yes,  I should  be  glad  indeed  to 
do  your  big  panel;  and  in  the  spandrels  to  some  of 
your  minor  arches,  and  here  and  there  and  else- 
where are  places  where  I should  wish  to  do  little 
bits  of  subsidiary  mural  painting  of  figures  combined 

* It  may  be  admitted  that  there  are  rooms  where  such  focalizing  of 
figure-work  is  permissible  and  effective,  because  the  function  peculiar 
to  the  place  is  also  focalized  by  a prescribed  arrangement  of  seats  or 
benches,  as  in  a throne-room  or  court-room  for  instance. 


138  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


with  ornament.  Thus  I would  lead  the  decoration 
down  from  your  big  panel  into  your  walls;  I would 
marry  the  large  picture  to  the  general  character  of 
your  room,  and  there  should  be  a whole  floreated 
offspring  of  tiny  figures  and  patterns  which  should 
in  nowise  take  from  the  simplicity  of  your  design, 
but  from  the  point  of  view  of  mural  painting  should 
unite  its  parts  and  instead  of  cutting  it  up  should 
make  it  tell  even  more  as  one  whole.” 

This  is  the  result  which  the  architect  and  the  really 
skilful  mural  designer  can  get  if  they  will  work 
together , the  architect  always  leading,  the  painter 
emphasizing  and  softening  as  the  former  desires,  not 
merely  enforcing  a single  focal  point  of  personal 
presentation. 

The  conditions  under  which  mural  painting  has 
been  given  out  and  payments  have  been  made  have 
had  something  to  do  with  delaying  the  conception  of 
the  room  as  a whole.  In  every  great  building  there 
is  an  immense  amount  of  what  is  called  plain  paint- 
ing as  distinguished  from  mural  painting.  A few  of 
the  mural  painters,  having  a large  staff  of  men  under 
them  and  a regular  plant  to  draw  upon,  are  able  to 
take  up  great  contracts,  covering  the  painting  of 
rooms,  halls,  stairways,  corridors — thousands  of  su- 
perficial yards  of  wall  space.  Now  plain  painting, 
so-called,  is  much  of  it  not  plain  at  all,  but  in- 
volves knowledge  of,  and  feeling  for  ornament  and 
color;  of  course,  anybody  with  muscle  and  a wide 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  139 


brush  can  do  plain  painting  of  a sort,  but  to  carry 
out  the  scheme  of  color  of  a great  building  in  the 
right  way  demands  the  possession  of  a very  high 
degree  of  artistic  capacity.  Some  of  our  plain  paint- 
ers are  also  accomplished  and  well-known  figure- 
painters,  and  the  public  has  not  appreciated  the  im- 
portance and  difficulty  of  the  problems  which  many 
of  them  have  met  successfully. 

Now,  my  contention  is  that  in  putting  two  men 
together  in  one  room  our  first  error  has  been  that  we 
have  not  sufficiently  considered  the  importance  of 
this  so-called  plain  painting.  In  saying  this  I do 
not  mean  for  a moment  that  we  have  ranked  the 
great  central  panel  too  highly;  it  occupies  the  first 
place  in  mural  art — vide  Giotto,  Signorelli,  Raphael, 
Michelangelo,  Veronese,  Rubens.  But  I do  mean 
that  we  have  not  given  a high  enough  place  to 
the  subsidiary  painting;  vide  the  work  of  the  men 
who  have  tied  the  great  panels  together  in  a thou- 
sand palaces  and  churches  of  Italy. 

In  decoration  not  half  enough  consideration  is 
accorded  to  the  man  to  whom  we  give  the  mislead- 
ing name  of  plain  painter,  the  man  who  supplements 
the  creator  of  so-called  mural  panels,  of  subjects; 
the  man  who  carries  out  minor  subjects,  perhaps 
purely  ornamental;  and,  above  all,  who  determines 
the  general  color  of  the  walls  which  shall  harmonize 
the  whole  room.  It  is  highly  important  that  this 
man  shall  be  an  artist  of  first-rate  excellence  with 


i4o  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


both  mind  and  feeling;  in  fact,  a man  who  by  in- 
stinct and  training  is  synthetical  in  a large  sense. 
This  has  not  been  fully  understood.  Even  recently 
I have  heard  talented  figure  painters,  who  executed 
fine  mural  panels,  say:  “Oh,  any  man  can  carry  out 
the  general  scheme  of  the  room.”  There  never  was 
a greater  mistake,  and  few  mistakes  have  bred  more 
mischief.  To  be  sure,  my  interlocutor,  the  mural 
painter,  added,  “if  he  is  properly  controlled.”  But 
proper  control  cannot  be  had  without  proper  sub- 
ordination, and  the  subordination  which  is  proper 
infers  sincere  mutuality  of  effort,  which  latter  again 
cannot  exist  until  proper  consideration  of  the  plain 
painter  by  the  architect  and  the  panel-painter  is 
obtained. 

Where  there  is  lack  of  consideration  some  blame 
usually  attaches  to  those  on  both  sides  of  a question. 
Commerciality  of  spirit  upon  the  part  of  the  plain 
painter  has  probably  and  justly  diluted  our  con- 
sideration for  him,  for  in  the  present  phase  of  the 
evolution  of  decorative  art  he  should  be  valuable  to 
us  just  about  in  proportion  as  he  is  willing  to  sub- 
ordinate his  profits  to  a thoughtful  and,  therefore, 
costly  (because  time-consuming)  study  of  the  purely 
artistic  side  of  his  problem.  But  he  may  reasonably 
insist  upon  a large  financial  profit  just  so  long  as  it 
is  almost  the  only  return  which  an  unthinking  public, 
and  unthinking  artist  colleagues,  admit  as  legitimate 
to  him. 


Reproduced  by  permission 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  141 


Frank  Millet,  for  instance,  should  have  been  hon- 
ored for  some  of  the  general  schemes  of  coloration 
which  he  carried  through  great  buildings  with 
success;  but  so-called  plain  painting  attracts  less 
attention  than  it  deserves.  Now  and  then,  when 
an  exhibitor  of  easel  pictures  is  praised  highly  by 
visitors,  and  in  print,  it  may  be  that  next  door  to  his 
exhibition  some  great  public  building  has  just  been 
opened.  The  same  visitors  pour  through  this  build- 
ing; they  have  admired  the  little  pictures  next  door, 
and  here  they  admire  the  mural  panels;  they  do  not 
give  a thought  to  the  plain  painting,  although  the 
very  fact  that  they  do  not  think  about  it  is  negative 
praise  which  should  redound  to  the  credit  of  the 
artist,  since  nothing  would  be  more  noticeable  than 
an  unpleasant  treatment  of  the  plain  painting. 

The  negative  character  of  this  excellence,  you  may 
say,  partly  explains  why  the  plain  painter  is  not  bet- 
ter appreciated.  But  if  this  explains  the  neglect 
of  the  public,  it  does  not  justify  the  same  neglect 
in  the  artist  who  should,  on  the  other  hand,  note 
such  a situation  and  call  attention  to  it.  I have 
said  that  some  of  our  artists  should  have  had 
more  credit  for  their  so-called  plain  painting.  Mil- 
let’s shoulders,  to  be  sure,  were  bowed  down  with 
honors  of  every  kind,  offices  and  medals  and  orders 
of  merit;  but  not  a bit  of  it  all  came  in  return  for 
the  unselfish  way  in  which  he  poured  his  thought, 
his  time,  and  his  private  fortune  into  trying  to  per- 


i42  mutuality  of  mural  painters 


feet  every  detail,  and  not  slight  one  of  them  in  the 
carrying  out  of  his  general  decorative  schemes  of 
color. 

I,  who  have  talked  to  him  often  and  at  length 
upon  these  subjects,  confidant  of  some  of  his  hopes 
and  realizations  and  disappointments,  can  affirm 
that  when  we  lost  him  in  no  way  did  we  lose  more 
than  in  the  forfeit  of  the  influence  which  he  would 
have  brought  to  bear  upon  thoroughness  and  sacri- 
fice in  favor  of  rounded  perfection  and  the  cultiva- 
tion of  that  spirit  of  collaboration  which  only  can 
secure  such  a result.  Let  the  public,  the  architect, 
and  the  mural  painter  give  to  the  plain  painter  the 
credit  due  him,  and  we  shall  find  him,  if  he  be  of  the 
right  stuff,  working  with  the  painters  of  panels  in 
such  a way  that  the  best  shall  obtain. 

There  is  no  one  thing  which  will  help  us  so  much 
here  in  America  as  to  arrange  our  harness  in  such 
cunning  fashion  that  the  handicraftsman  and  the 
creator  of  complicated  subjects  shall  pull  together 
and  side  by  side.  I do  not  say  pull  equally.  More 
strain  came  upon  Paul  Veronese  when  he  painted 
the  great  “Marriage  of  Cana”  for  the  refectory  of 
San  Giorgio  than  fell  upon  the  men  who  twined 
scroll  work  about  it  or  filled  ornamental  panels;  but 
the  eventual  strain  was  shared  by  all,  and  the  train- 
ing of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries  so  de- 
veloped the  garzone  di  bottega  that  Verrocchio’s  shop- 
boy  became  da  Vinci  and  Ghirlandajo’s  Michelangelo. 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  143 


If  we  are  to  attain  entire  success  the  man  who 
thinks  out  the  big  central  canvas  must  give  sus- 
tained, generous,  cordial  consideration  to  the  man 
who  paints  the  scrolls;  for  if  we  are  to  be  able  to 
spell  art  with  a big  A we  must  learn  to  spell  artisan 
in  the  same  way. 


IV 

Now,  if  thorough  consideration  for  everybody’s 
share  in  the  work  is  the  desideratum,  how  are  we  to 
bring  it  about?  Thus  far  two  quite  different  roads 
have  been  followed,  each  good  for  a certain  distance, 
neither  leading  far  enough.  At  the  beginning  of  one 
road  the  architect  has  said  to  himself:  “I  am  afraid 
of  inexperience  in  my  mural  painter.  I am  afraid 
of  ‘features’  in  my  room,  afraid  of  great  canvases 
made  a theatre  of  display  for  virtuosity,  and  throw- 
ing my  ensemble  out  of  balance.  I will  adhere  to 
the  methods  of  the  Italian  fifteenth  century,  mak- 
ing such  an  elaborate  decorative  distribution  of 
geometrical  divisions  of  my  walls  and  ceilings  by 
means  of  carved  mouldings  and  borders  that  what 
goes  within  them  will  pass  muster,  even  if  it  be  rela- 
tively inferior  in  drawing  and  painting,  and  at  least 
will  not  confuse  or  contradict  my  design.  The  art- 
ist shall  be  prodigal  of  little  figures  flat  against  gold 
or  modelled  in  relief,  rich  perhaps  in  color,  or  it  may 
be  toned  into  delicate  distinction.  By  rhythm,  en- 


144  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


richment,  and  delicate  interrelation  of  parts  he  shall 
supply  the  place  of  creative  power.  The  lesson  is 
spread  out,  for  him  to  learn  from,  upon  palace  walls 
of  fifteenth-century  Italy,  in  the  Schifanoja  of  Fer- 
rara, the  Cambio  of  Perugia,  the  Reggia  of  Mantua, 
and  taught  by  a hundred  masters,  among  whom 
Pinturicchio  was  really  a genius,  lavishing  orna- 
mental and  figure  composition  upon  his  walls  until 
their  mere  enrichment  by  color  and  line  became 
fairly  intoxicating.” 

Such  a treatment  is  delightful  as  far  as  it  goes, 
and  it  goes  very  far;  and  furthermore,  it  is  fairly 
safe;  for,  except  where  artists  of  spontaneous  and 
personal  talent  practise  it,  such  decoration  is  rather 
compilation  than  creation,  and  calls  for  taste  rather 
than  originality.  But  it  is  a road  which  loses  itself, 
is  swallowed  up,  just  where  the  great  gates  of  the 
high  Renaissance  swing  open.  Within  them  it  con- 
tinues truly,  but  only  as  a delightful  ornamental 
border-land  to  the  spacious  country  in  which  Gior- 
gione seats  his  nymphs  and  Veronese  spreads  his 
feasts,  and  over  which  are  banked  the  clouds  in 
whose  bosom  the  goddesses  of  the  Farnesina  are 
throned  or  the  angels  of  Correggio  fly. 

These  later  creations  furnished  the  matter  of  the 
great  panel,  and  the  great  panel  came  to  stay.  Once 
created,  it  was  felt  to  be  the  completest  painted  ex- 
pression of  any  dominant  national  emotion  or  hap- 
pening. Events  of  supreme  importance,  when  cele- 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  145 


brated  graphically,  were  no  longer  broken  up  into  a 
series  of  little  panels,  but  were  given  wide  space  upon 
the  walls  throughout  the  succeeding  centuries.  It 
was  plain,  therefore,  when  we  commenced  our  dec- 
orative practice  in  America,  that,  if  we  wished  to 
apotheosize  some  event,  we  must  give  it  elbow-room; 
and  here  began  our  second  and  alternate  method  of 
procedure. 

In  his  progress  along  this  road  the  architect  se- 
lected an  artist  to  do  the  big  panel,  then  a decorative 
firm  to  do  the  rest.  Now  it  has  been  shown  that, 
unless  the  architect  can  give  a great  deal  of  time  to 
supervision  on  the  spot,  this  dual  responsibility  is 
loaded  with  danger.  The  peril  which  menaces  the 
result  is  increased  by  the  architect’s  consciousness 
of  it.  Urged  by  this  consciousness,  he  says  to  him- 
self: “A  has  proved  his  ability  to  do  a large  panel 
well;  he  shall  have  free  play.  But  I am  not  quite 
sure  that  XYZ  & Co.,  the  so-called  decorative  firm, 
will  thoroughly  sympathize  with  the  character  of 
his  work;  therefore  I will  minimize  their  share  of  it 
by  giving  them  only  plain  or  ornamented  surfaces, 
void  of  figure  composition  and  to  be  merely  colored 
or  gilded  harmoniously.”  By  doing  this  the  archi- 
tect ties  his  own  hands  and  denies  to  himself  free- 
dom of  distribution.  The  decorative  composition 
of  a room  is  of  prodigious  importance,  and  to  restrict 
figure  treatment  to  one  enclosed  space  is  to  adopt  a 
Procrustean  method.  For,  whether  we  linger  with 


1 46  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


Perugino  in  the  minutely  subdivided  space  or  pass 
on  with  Veronese  to  some  huge  refectory,  where  his 
vast  banquet  fills  one  end  of  the  sala  from  pavement 
to  ceiling,  we  have  to  admit  that  these  old  masters — 
both  the  man  who  caressed  the  sequence  of  little 
panels  and  the  one  who  threw  open  the  whole  room’s 
end  to  his  painting  of  the  sky  and  the  lagoons  and 
his  parti-colored  crowd  of  Venetians — that  each 
artist,  I say,  kept  steadily  in  view  the  decorative 
ensemble,  the  entirety  of  his  room.  Perugino  in 
the  Sala  del  Cambio  never  thought  that,  because  he 
had  been  lavish  in  quantity  and  quality  of  painted 
people  and  incidents,  he  could  forget  the  carver 
or  inlayer  or  gilder,  and  he  gave  to  them  also  an 
honorable  place.  Veronese  never  believed  that,  be- 
cause he  had  furnished  a spacious  scene  filled  with 
movement  and  color,  he  could  abandon  all  the  rest 
of  his  refectory  to  carver  and  inlayer  and  gilder, 
and  suppress  the  figure  save  in  one  great  panel. 
Each  of  these  two  masters  felt  that  he  must  keep  in 
touch  with  those  who  treated  wood  or  plaster  or 
pavement  throughout  the  room,  not  stop  at  enriching 
one  spot.  So  Perugino,  providing  a profusion  of 
little  human  figures  occurring  again  and  again  in  all 
parts  of  his  scheme,  relieved  the  eye  by  giving  it 
patterns  instead  of  figures,  to  rest  on  in  other  por- 
tions of  the  walls.  Veronese,  who  had  set  up  one 
great  focal  group  of  dominating  figures,  painted  oth- 
ers which  should  peer  out  from  spandrels  or  between 


William  Morris  Hunt:  “The  Flight  of  Night.”  Painted  for  the  State  Capitol,  Albany,  N.  Y. 

This  work  with  its  companion,  one  of  the  very  earliest  of  American  decorations,  perished  through  a defect  in  the  plastering 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  147 


pilasters,  carrying  his  figure  composition  throughout 
the  room. 

We  have  then  seen  the  methods  by  which  we  have 
thus  far  tried  to  blunt  the  two  horns  of  our  dilemma, 
methods  of  elimination  and  restriction.  One  man 
has  said:  “Let  us  give  up  the  big  panels  altogether 
and  confine  ourselves  to  quattro  cento  practice. ” The 
other  has  replied:  “No,  let  us  go  on  to  the  cinque 
cento  and  install  the  big  panel,  but  let  us  keep  down 
the  second  artist  in  the  room  to  ‘ plain  painting’ 
and  gilding  of  ornament,  limiting  his  creative  work 
to  creation,  at  best,  of  harmonies.” 

Still  a third  man,  and  I am  sorry  to  say  that  he  is 
sometimes  a so-called  mural  painter,  thinks  slight- 
ingly of  all  that  does  not  relate  to  the  figure,  says, 
“Anybody  can  do  plain  painting,”  and  wishes  to  be 
entirely  rid  of  decorative  firms  as  “commercial.” 
Now  some  of  these  propositions  seem  to  me  wholly 
wrong,  and  none  of  them  seems  to  me  wholly  right. 
I am  optimistic  and  aggressive  enough  to  believe  pro- 
foundly in  what  is  to  come.  Given  the  talent,  the 
ability,  the  progressiveness  shown  upon  the  walls 
of  our  picture  exhibitions  by  Americans,  men  and 
women,  sculptors  and  painters,  I am  convinced  that 
we  may  yet  evolve  a very  high  and  perfect  form  of 
decoration. 

In  such  an  evolution  we  must  have  the  great  figure 
panel  because  it  belongs  with  every  advanced  sys- 
tem of  decoration,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  we  need 


148  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


not  limit  ourselves  to  a single  figure  panel  in  the 
room,  restricting  all  other  parts  of  the  said  room  to 
plain  surface  or  purely  ornamental  work.  In  fact, 
if  we  are  to  be  highly  developed  we  must  be  equal 
to  all  the  different  forms  and  degrees  of  decorative 
freedom. 

Let  me  try  to  give  examples  of  the  difficulties 
which  come  up  between  artists  set  to  work  together 
in  one  room.  We  will  take  two  men,  each  highly 
trained  along  his  lines,  and  for  convenience’  sake 
call  them  Painter  and  Gilder. 

An  architect  has  included  in  a public  building 
a vast  room  in  which  notable  functions  will  oc- 
casionally take  place.  He  wishes  to  have  in  this 
room  a great  focal  decorative  panel,  a big  painting. 
He  allots  this  to  Painter.  There  remains  to  be  con- 
sidered the  decoration  of  the  rest  of  the  room. 
Instead  of  giving  this  to  Painter,  and  enabling  him 
to  frame  his  own  picture,  he  turns  it  over  to  Gilder, 
thus  erecting  two  heads  to  the  enterprise.  To  be 
sure,  he  says:  “Gilder,  I want  you  to  refer  to  Painter 
in  carrying  out  the  decoration  of  the  room;  you  are 
to  consult  him,  consider  his  ideas,  and  echo  his  panel 
in  the  subsidiary  work.” 

This  sounds  ideal,  but  it  is  not  so.  To  begin 
with,  the  financial  appropriation  has  been  divided 
into  two  portions,  controlled  respectively  by  Painter 
and  Gilder,  neither  of  whom  has  power  to  exceed 
his  allotment.  They  are  two  men,  not  one,  and  no 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  149 


two  men  can  think  and  plan  exactly  alike.  They 
may  work  admirably  together,  but  one  should  be  in 
real  control.  The  architect  by  referring  Gilder  to 
Painter  has  only  constituted  Painter  an  advisory 
committee  of  one,  not  controller.  Now  an  advisory 
committee  can  only  advise,  and  that  is  not  enough. 

Above  all,  no  man  can  administer  another  man’s 
pocketbook,  and,  therefore,  here  is  what  happens: 
Painter  works  at  his  main  panel  with  his  staff  of 
assistants,  Gilder  at  the  general  decoration  with  his 
staff.  Painter  and  Gilder  are  carrying  on  decora- 
tion in  other  buildings,  and  it  is  difficult  for  them 
both  to  stay  long  in  this  particular  room  at  the 
same  time. 

Gilder’s  foreman  goes  to  Painter’s  studio  and  says: 
“How  do  you  want  the  toning  done  all  around  your 
big  panel?”  Painter  tries  to  tell  him,  but  cannot 
do  it  as  well  as  he  could  tell  one  of  his  own  assistants, 
because  he  has  trained  the  latter,  is  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  their  temperaments,  and  knows  just 
how  they  will  interpret  his  orders  and  translate  his 
ideas  into  form  and  color.  Gilder’s  foreman  does 
the  work,  and  Painter  is  not  really  satisfied  with  it. 
The  foreman  says:  “That  is  how  Mr.  Painter  wanted 
it;  that’s  what  he  told  me  to  do.” 

But  it  has  not  been  done  as  Painter  wished  it, 
because  he  could  not  superintend  Gilder’s  staff  as  he 
might  his  own.  They  could  not  understand  him  as 
readily  or  follow  him  as  closely  as  could  his  person- 


i5o  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


ally  trained  men.  It  is  not  Gilder’s  fault;  he  is 
perhaps  as  highly  trained  as  Painter,  and  is  just  as 
anxious  to  have  things  turn  out  well.  But  there 
is  a divided  responsibility  where  a single  responsibil- 
ity would  have  been  far  more  effective.  The  result 
is  neither  a complete  expression  of  Painter’s  or  of 
Gilder’s  personality.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  compli- 
cated by  a pulling  which  is  slightly  divergent  in  the 
case  of  the  two  principal  parties — it  is  team-work 
without  a driver. 

When  two  men  of  nearly  equal  training  are  ex- 
pected to  refer  to  each  other  as  they  work,  even  their 
good  qualities  hinder  their  progress — their  delicacy, 
personal  and  mutual,  interferes.  Each  one  dislikes 
to  demand  too  much  of  the  other’s  time.  Above  all, 
he  hates  to  ask  the  other  to  do  a piece  of  work  over 
again,  because  in  so  proceeding  he  is  putting  his 
hand  directly  into  the  other’s  pocket  and  diminish- 
ing his  profit.  Gilder  is  paying  his  men  a large 
sum  per  day.  If,  when  they  have  worked  for  a 
week  on  a certain  wall,  Painter  wishes  the  color  to 
be  two  tones  deeper,  he  feels  like  a robber  in  asking 
Gilder  to  undo  and  do  again  so  much.  He  even 
may,  and  sometimes  does,  meet  with  this  answer 
from  Gilder:  “You  wish  me  to  repaint  the  walls, 
but  I have  nothing  to  do  it  with,  for  I have  already 
almost  exhausted  the  appropriation.”  In  such  a 
situation  what  could  one  reply? 

Suppose  for  a moment,  and  in  parenthesis,  that 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  151 


about  the  year  1492  Alexander  VI  had  given  Pin- 
turicchio  a big  lunette,  “The  Santa  Caterina  before 
the  Sultan,”  for  instance,  to  paint  as  the  impor- 
tant focal  point  of  the  room,  with  an  appropria- 
tion of  so  much  money,  then  had  turned  over  the 
rest  of  the  Sala  to  another  artist  who  proceeded  to 
execute  a series  of  elaborate  smaller  decorations 
about  the  big  one!  When  they  were  all  uncovered 
together,  suppose  Pinturicchio  had  said  to  his  com- 
rade, “This  juxtaposition  of  tone  and  color  is  not 
what  I wished;  it  hurts  my  work,”  and  his  collabora- 
tor had  replied:  “The  Pope  gave  me  so  much  money, 
forbidding  me  to  exceed  it,  and  it  is  nearly  gone!” 

How  we  and  others  before  us  for  four  hundred 
years  should  have  had  to  suffer  for  this  misunder- 
standing! How  we  have  had  to  suffer  in  other  cases! 
For  they  did  make  mistakes  now  and  again,  mistakes 
which  we  can  feel  and  see.  And  if  errors  were  made 
even  in  the  relatively  homogeneous  art  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  blunders  of  scale  apparent  to-day, 
and,  unquestionably,  dissonances  in  color-juxta- 
position which  kindly  time  has  since  softened  into 
agreement,  think  how  much  more  embarrassing  is 
our  modern  collaboration  of  men  whose  study  has 
brought  them  into  contact  with  so  many  different 
theories  and  practices! 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  there  is  only  one  head 
to  the  enterprise,  if  Painter  or  Gilder  alone  is  re- 
sponsible, if  it  is  his  financial  affair,  and  his  alone, 


152  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


he  has  only  himself  to  blame  for  his  blunder,  and 
must  at  once  and  cheerfully  make  up  his  mind  to 
pay  for  it  and  do  the  work  over  again;  whereas,  if 
Painter  has  to  ask  Gilder  to  incur  loss,  or  vice  versa , 
both  are  harassed  with  doubts  as  to  whether  the 
mistake  might  not  have  been  avoided  had  the  first 
suggestions  been  made  effectively.  But  I have  tried 
to  show  that  they  could  not  be  made  with  entire 
effectiveness  because  Painter  was  dealing  with  an- 
other man’s  material,  not  his  own,  and  could  not  be 
perfectly  understood.  In  decoration  a man  knows 
beforehand  that  he  is  to  be  occasionally  called  upon 
to  make  sacrifices  of  time  and  money,  either  because 
of  mistakes  or  from  the  need  for  experiment.  Now 
he  can  do  this  very  well  on  his  own  account,  but  when 
it  comes  to  sacrificing  some  one  else  it  is  a different 
matter. 

And  let  us  further  develop  another  cogent  reason 
(which  we  have  already  touched  upon  in  an  earlier 
paragraph)  for  not  dividing  decorative  responsibil- 
ity. In  the  great  room  which  we  have  discussed  the 
architect  pays  to  Painter  so  much  for  his  panel, 
to  Gilder  so  much  for  the  general  decoration.  The 
panel  occupies  the  principal  place  in  the  room,  but 
there  are  plain  spaces  of  wall  which  Painter  thinks 
need  decoration.  Here  and  there  he  would  like  to 
place  a figure  or  a frieze  or  a bit  of  spandrel  orna- 
ment which  should  help  the  big  panel  down  into  the 
walls,  marry  it  completely  to  the  room,  and  make 


Francis  C.  Jones:  Decoration  in  apartment  of  the  artist 

The  studio  and  apartments  of  H.  Bolton  Jones  and  Francis  C.  Jones  make  up  a whole  remarkable  as  being  through- 
out the  personal  creation  of  these  artists.  Not  only  the  mural  panels,  but  the  wood-carving,  gilding,  ceiling- 
beams,  stone  chimneypiece,  and  stained  glass  are  the  work  of  their  own  hands.  As  a homogeneous  example 
of  richly  toned  decorative  detail  it  is  notable 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  153 


the  whole  a richer,  completer,  and  more  significant 
ensemble.  Now  if  the  whole  sum  allotted  to  Painter 
and  Gilder  were  so  much,  and  if  the  entire  sum  were 
paid  to  one  of  the  two  as  controller — to  Painter,  for 
instance — he  could  at  once  determine  what  fraction 
of  the  amount  he  would  devote  to  such  decorative 
figures  as  lay  outside  his  panel. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  one-third  of  the  total  sum 
were  allotted  to  Gilder  specifically  for  plain  painting, 
so-called,  Painter  certainly  could  not  require  Gilder 
to  do  additional  costly  painting  for  nothing,  nor 
could  he  afford  to  divert  a portion  of  his  own  ap- 
propriation to  work  which  he  could  not  control  as  to 
its  execution.  Here  is  a condition  likely  seriously  to 
hamper  successful  creation,  since  it  at  once  narrows 
the  scope  of  free  combinations. 

We  went  just  now  to  Pinturicchio  for  an  exam- 
ple; let  us  travel  backward  this  time,  not  quite  so 
far  nor  so  long,  to  Tiepolo,  and  visit  the  wonder- 
ful Barbarossa  Saal  of  the  Castle  at  Wurzburg.  If 
the  prince  bishop  had  said  to  the  great  artist, 
“Messer  Giovanni  Battista,  you  shall  paint  me  a 
ceiling  and  two  tympana,  and  Mingozzi  Colonna 
shall  do  everything  else,”  how  much  we  should  have 
lost!  What  he  probably  did  say  was,  “Treat  such 
and  such  themes,  but  arrange  the  painting  as  you 
will,”  and  what  the  painter  thought  was,  in  turn, 
just  as  probably  something  like  this:  “My  ceiling 


iS4  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


from  its  shape  and  surroundings  is  likely  to  resemble 
my  ceilings  in  the  Canossa  palace  and  at  Stra  and 
elsewhere,  but  up  there  between  windows  and  tym- 
pana I see  a good  place  for  something  wholly  new.” 
And  so,  stimulated  by  the  novelty  of  the  situation, 
he  spilled  out  from  the  corners  of  his  tympana  and 
spread  along  the  wall  the  figures  which  yield  perhaps 
the  freshest,  certainly  the  most  audacious,  motives 
in  the  room,  and  which  delightfully  enhance  the  en- 
semble. 

All  these,  and  the  overdoors,  too,  we  should  have 
lost  had  there  been  dual  control  and  a limitation  of 
Tiepolo  to  his  three  focal  points. 

V 

When  I have  spoken  of  our  current  division  of 
responsibility  to  persons  interested  in  art,  they  have 
often  expressed  great  surprise  that  it  should  ever 
have  occurred.  They  have  said  with  emphasis:  “Of 
course , the  most  highly  trained  artist  should  be  at 
the  head,  the  painter  of  the  great  panel  should  con- 
trol the  plain  painter;  there  is  no  other  way  of 
looking  at  it.”  But  the  history  of  the  movement 
shows  that  this  dual  responsibility  came  about  quite 
naturally,  and  again,  although  from  the  ideal  point 
of  view  “there  is  no  other  way”  than  accepting  the 
most  highly  trained  artist  as  controller,  in  facing 
the  actual  situation  we  must  qualify  our  assurance 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  155 


not  a little,  for  though  we  are  working  toward  our 
ideal  we  have  not  yet  attained  it. 

Here  is  how  the  dual  responsibility  grew  into  being: 
Before  the  World’s  Fair  at  Chicago  and  La  Farge’s 
work  in  Boston  and  New  York  gave  their  stimulus 
to  decorative  art  in  the  United  States,  the  impulse 
toward  embellishment  had  begun  to  manifest  itself 
at  least  sporadically.  No  one  (for  a long  time,  at 
all  events)  had  planned  the  systematic  decoration 
of  any  great  building,  whether  capitol  or  court-house 
or  library,  but  it  was  evident  that  if  such  planning 
should  be  imminent  the  staff  of  creators  of  the  dec- 
oration would  have  to  be  drawn  from  two  classes 
of  men.  One  class  consisted  of  the  artists  who, 
either  in  America  or  Paris,  had  graduated  from 
their  schools  to  studios  of  their  own,  and  were 
painting  pictures  for  the  annual  Academy  or  Salon. 
The  other  class  included  men  who  had  built  up 
in  American  cities  the  business  of  decorative  firms. 
They  had  imported  and  imitated  antique  furniture 
and  studied  styles  which  they  applied  to  the  in- 
teriors of  private  houses.  The  founders  of  these 
businesses  often  became  men  of  highly  trained  ar- 
tistic taste  with  skilled  artists,  artisans,  and  me- 
chanics working  under  them.  (I  call  them  artisans 
for  convenience’  sake,  and  apologize  in  doing  so, 
for  every  artisan  should  be  an  artist  and  every 
artist  must  be  an  artisan.) 

There,  then,  was  the  material,  and  when  such  an 


156  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


enterprise  as  the  decoration  of  the  Boston  Public 
Library  eventuated  it  was  carried  out  by  represent- 
atives of  the  two  classes. 

Mr.  La  Farge,  the  only  artist  who  at  that  time 
was  experienced  in  the  handling  of  a stafF  of  men, 
was  engaged  elsewhere.  It  was  certain  that  Mr. 
Sargent  and  Mr.  Abbey,  from  their  great  talent, 
could  contribute  more  capacity  for  drawing  and  mod- 
elling the  figure  and  for  the  conception  of  large  com- 
positions than  could  the  artisan-artists  employed  by 
the  firm  of  XYZ  & Company.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  latter  could  contribute  a knowledge  of  mechan- 
ical processes,  of  carving  or  painting  ornament,  of 
toning  gold,  of  doing  a hundred  things  in  detail 
which  Mr.  Sargent  and  Mr.  Abbey  had  never  found 
leisure  to  study.  In  such  a case  it  was  natural  and 
desirable,  at  a time  when  we  were  in  our  beginnings 
as  to  decoration,  that  the  architect  in  charge  should 
seek  out  the  best  figure  painters  and  say  to  them, 
“Paint  me  some  panels”;  to  the  decorative  firms, 
“Do  the  rest  of  it.” 

Only  natural  and  desirable,  even  inevitable  at 
that  time,  yet  such  procedure  was  the  beginning  of  a 
condition  of  things  which  I earnestly  believe  must 
now  be  greatly  modified  if  we  would  establish  a 
first-rate  decorative  practice  in  America.  Since  the 
year  1892  we  have  learned  much,  and  there  is  a 
whole  group  of  men  who  have  undertaken  and  car- 
ried out  great  decorative  enterprises.  The  Edwin 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  157 


Abbey  who  painted  the  lunette  called  “The  Treas- 
ures of  the  Earth/’  in  the  Harrisburg  Capitol,  was  a 
much  greater  decorator  than  the  Edwin  Abbey  who 
drew  and  colored  the  delightful  panels  of  the  Boston 
Public  Library — he  had  had  a score  of  years  in  which 
to  think  and  develop.  For  the  same  reason  Mr. 
Sargent  to-day  could  control  every  detail  of  the  sur- 
roundings to  his  decoration  with  more  advantage 
than  could  any  other  man.  If  Abbey  were  with  us 
still,  and  if  he  and  Mr.  Sargent  were  to  decorate 
rooms,  their  added  experience  would  make  it  emi- 
nently desirable  that  no  middleman  whatever  should 
come  between  them  and  the  architect,  save  as  under 
their  complete  directoral  control. 

The  controlling  artist  should  not  only  paint  the 
panels  but  also  (always  under  the  architect)  admin- 
ister every  inch  of  the  color  of  the  room,  determine 
the  toning  of  the  plaster  or  stone,  say  how  much 
gold  there  should  be  and  of  what  quality;  in  fact, 
he  should  create  the  frame,  which  is  the  room,  as  well 
as  the  panels,  which,  speaking  superficially,  we  may 
call  the  picture. 

To  the  man  who  wishes  to  eliminate  decorative 
firms  from  large  public  artistic  enterprises  because 
the  said  firms  are  commercial,  we  would  reply,  first, 
that  all  artists  have  to  earn  their  living,  hence  are  in 
a sense  themselves  commercial;  secondly,  that  some 
of  the  great  decorative  firms  have  rendered  invaluable 
service  to  art  in  America,  and  have  contributed  prob- 


1 58  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


ably  more  than  any  one  artist  toward  making  an  ar- 
tistic background  for  daily  life  in  our  private  houses 
at  least;  thirdly,  that  the  experience  acquired  by  the 
carvers,  gilders,  painters  of  ornament,  etc.,  in  the  em- 
ployment of  these  firms  can  be  of  the  very  greatest 
possible  use  to  artists  unconnected  with  any  such 
houses,  but  who  happen  for  the  time  to  be  in  control 
of  great  artistic  enterprises.  The  men  who  are  at  the 
head  of  these  firms,  as  we  have  said  before,  have  at- 
tained their  position  because  of  natural  inclination  or 
inherited  tendency;  in  some  cases  they  are,  like  Mr. 
Tiffany,  brilliant  artists  who  have  rendered  great 
original  service.  Even  setting  aside  so  exceptional  a 
case  as  his,  such  men  are  at  least  trained  experts, 
proud  of  their  success  and  eager  for  recognition. 

Upon  the  purely  commercial  side  of  their  business 
the  artist  who  is  decorating  a room  need  not  approach 
them.  Some  few  among  them  may  inject  pure  com- 
mercially into  all  that  they  do.  Such  men  should 
be  fought  to  a finish  and  compelled  to  respect  the 
professional  ethics  of  the  artistic  societies.  The  ma- 
jority of  men  are  sound,  and  the  majority  of  dec- 
orative firms,  I fully  believe,  if  given  generous  rec- 
ognition would  give  generous  service  in  return  to 
the  common  cause.  At  all  events,  I should  be  very 
willing  to  make  occasionally  the  experiment  of  being 
put  under  the  yoke  with  such  men.  When  I paint 
the  principal  motive  in  a large  room  while  some 
well-known  firm  does  the  rest  of  the  decoration,  if 


Charles  R.  Lamb:  Dome  in  Memorial  Chapel,  Minneapolis,  Minn, 
executed  in  mosaic 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  159 


we  make  a mess  of  it  it  is  because  we  did  not  begin 
soon  enough  to  compare  what  we  were  doing  or  suf- 
ficiently consider  each  other’s  temperaments  at  the 
beginning  of  the  undertaking. 

If  the  mural  painter  can  go  early  enough  to  the 
workshop  of  the  decorative  firm,  and  if  his  assistants, 
men  who  understand  him  and  his  wishes  thoroughly, 
can  go  there  often  enough  and  be  sure  of  a respect- 
ful hearing,  we  shall  have  a good  result.  Or  if 
exactly  the  reverse  obtains,  and  the  head  of  the 
decorative  firm  comes  to  the  painter  and  sends  his 
executants  to  him  freely  and  frequently,  the  same 
fortunate  outcome  may  obtain. 

You  may  say  that  it  will  be  very  difficult  for  sev- 
eral men,  one  the  mural  painter,  another  the  so- 
called  decorator,  still  others  their  assistants,  to  carry 
out  one  room  successfully.  Yes,  it  will  be  very  dif- 
ficult, it  will  involve  mutuality  of  experience,  knowl- 
edge, taste,  above  all,  mutuality  of  sacrifice,  but  it 
will  be  possible,  and  it  is  the  only  way  possible,  and 
it  will  be  worth  the  sacrifice.  To  the  sceptic  we 
will  cite  the  condemnation  passed  upon  our  archi- 
tecture but  a few  years  ago.  People  said  it  was  all 
copy,  all  taken  from  the  past;  to-day  the  walls  of 
the  exhibition  of  the  Architectural  League  are  cov- 
ered with  photographs  of  works  which,  evolved  from 
the  creation  of  the  past  and  the  needs  of  the  pres- 
ent, are  fresh,  original,  stimulating,  beautiful,  and 
American. 


160  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


Sculpture  is  following  closely  in  the  wake  of  archi- 
tecture; chronologically,  painting  has  always  come 
a little  later  than  the  other  two,  and  mural  paint- 
ing is  already  standing  on  the  threshold.  She  only 
wants  to  be  entreated  in  the  right  way.  Given  sin- 
cerity and  enthusiasm,  which  we  have,  mutuality, 
which  we  may  have,  patience,  which  we  must  have, 
the  future  will  be  big  with  event. 

The  very  greatest  result  in  art  (in  decoration  as 
in  other  branches)  can  ultimately  come  only  from 
him  who  has  the  divine  afflatus,  for  not  all  the 
mutual  effort  of  twenty  Peruginos  working  consci- 
entiously together  could  produce  a Michelangelo. 
But  under  the  commander-in-chief,  be  he,  according 
to  the  problem,  architect,  sculptor,  or  painter,  the 
success  of  the  enterprise  will  rest  upon  team-work, 
and  it  is  upon  the  training  of  these  team-workers 
that  we  have  to  rely.  For  we  must  have  many 
brains  and  many  hands  to  work  for  us  toward  the 
creation  of  our  building;  and,  to  be  paradoxical,  the 
individuality  of  the  great  decorated  building  de- 
pends largely  on  homogeneousness.  It  is  the  result  of 
minds  working  in  a subordination  at  times  almost 
hierarchical;  all  these  minds  converge  upon  one  ef- 
fect, the  effect  planned  by  the  master  mind  of  the 
creator,  who  is,  or  should  be,  the  architect. 

In  any  ideal  procedure  the  architects,  sculptors, 
painters,  glass-makers,  and  all  the  rest  constantly 
confer,  watch  each  other,  dovetail  their  work,  sound 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  161 


their  notes  together,  as  it  were,  to  see  if  they  accord. 
Their  task  is  antipodal  to  that  of  the  easel  painter. 
The  latter  would  resent  a brush  stroke  from  an  out- 
sider; he  preserves  his  individuality  as  jealously  as 
if  he  were  a competitor  en  loge.  The  man  who  is 
taking  a hand  in  the  decoration  of  a great  building 
acts  otherwise.  He  may  have  planned  a great  pic- 
tured pavement  like  that  of  Siena;  he  cannot  lay 
it.  He  may  have  designed  a great  window  and 
sedulously  calculated  the  effect  of  his  leads,  but  he 
does  not  set  the  glass  or  fit  the  leads;  it  would  be  a 
waste  of  time.  And  so  it  is  with  the  painter  of  a 
great  mural  panel;  it  would  be  folly  for  him  to 
consume  his  hours  in  going  over  vast  stretches  of 
canvas  with  paint.  Once  he  has  found  his  design, 
his  shapes,  his  colors,  his  values,  his  assistants  may 
put  them  upon  the  canvas  for  him,  and  when  they 
have  reached  a certain  point  he  too  plunges  into  the 
thick  of  the  fight  and  works  with  them,  elbow  to 
elbow.  And  if  he  is  wise  he  will  associate  these 
assistants  so  closely  with  him  that  their  enthusiasm 
and  their  temperaments  are  associated  as  well,  until 
they  become,  not  merely  helpers,  but  part  creators, 
who  in  time  shall  grow  into  individual  leaders. 

For  although  fitting  and  soldering  and  all  mechan- 
ical work  must  be  well  done,  above  these  fitters  of 
joints  and  between  them  and  their  leader  must  come 
many  kinds  of  men,  and  above  all  others  and  close 
to  the  head  must  be  his  chosen  and  trained  assist- 


162  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


ants,  his  chiefs  of  the  different  departments  of  the 
staff. 

For  the  development  of  these  leaders  we  have  that 
most  sorely  needed  of  all  our  art  institutions,  the 
School  of  Rome.  Upon  the  top  of  Mount  Janicu- 
lum,  whence  the  students  can  look  down  upon  a city 
which  has  been  overwritten,  like  a palimpsest,  with 
the  records  of  the  culture  of  twenty  centuries,  we 
hope  to  cloister  a growth  which,  matured,  shall 
spread  over  America.  I believe  that  there  is  no 
brighter  spot  on  the  horizon,  no  greater  encourage- 
ment for  him  who  cares  for  the  future  of  American 
art,  no  institution  more  deserving  the  indorsement, 
backing,  and  active  financial  assistance  of  all  who 
believe  in  the  higher  education  than  this  same  School 
of  Rome.  It  is  there  that  in  time  we  shall  all  seek 
for  our  assistants  of  the  day,  who  shall  become 
leaders  of  the  morrow,  for  our  Perino  del  Vaga  or 
our  Giovanni  da  Udine,  our  garzone  di  bottega,  who 
(as  I have  said  before),  beginning  as  Ghirlandajo’s 
shop-boy,  became  a towering  master. 

You  smile  at  my  thinking  that  Americans  may 
emulate  “the  hand  that  rounded  Peter’s  dome.” 
Michelangelo  did  his  best  as  a giant  in  a great  age. 
If  American  artists  learn  to  do  their  best,  at  least 
their  relation  to  their  time  will  be  unimpeachable.  As 
for  our  time,  no  less  an  authority  than  Rodin  says 
that  we  in  America  are  upon  the  edge  of  a renais- 
sance whose  importance  we  can  hardly  calculate. 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  163 


To  the  advocate  of  individuality  a outrance  who 
says  that  all  decoration  is  only  compilation  because 
it  is  the  work  of  more  than  one  hand  and  mind,  we 
reply  that  curiously  but  undeniably  the  decorators 
who  have  had  most  assistants  have  been  among  the 
artists  endowed  with  the  most  prodigious  person- 
ality. Pinturicchio’s  Borgia  rooms  were  produced 
by  an  army  of  assistants;  but  are  they  not  different 
from  any  others?  The  ceilings  of  Veronese’s  pupils 
cannot  always  be  certainly  distinguished  from  those 
of  the  master;  but  do  they  not  proclaim  the  names 
of  Venice  and  of  Paolo  Cagliari  as  with  a trumpet? 

Rubens  is  the  archetype  of  the  man  who  made 
great  pictures  with  other  men’s  hands,  but  is  any 
personality  more  colossal  than  that  which  could 
influence  schools  of  north  and  south,  could  pass 
down  the  sceptre  through  the  hands  of  Vandyck  to 
Gainsborough  and  all  sorts  of  lesser  men,  who  could 
open  the  way  in  fact  to  modern  art?  Some  later 
critics  have  spoken  easily  of  Raphael  as  without 
personality  because  he  accepted  the  ideas  of  others, 
but  is  there  any  more  varied  and  sustained  person- 
ality than  Raphael’s  in  arrangement  and  composi- 
tion-— those  all-important  elements  of  decoration  ? 

Composition  is  combination;  Raphael  combined 
what  he  saw  in  men  and  women,  books  and  pictures, 
and  after  they  had  passed  through  his  brain  they 
were  quite  sufficiently  alembicated.  So  much  for 
some  of  the  famous  and  successful  team-workers  of 


1 64  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


the  past;  may  they  not  stand  comparison  respect- 
ably with  the  most  individual  of  artists  ? And  so  in 
the  future  the  successful  creators  of  public  buildings 
in  our  national  architecture  shall  be  those  who  have 
the  power  at  once  to  imagine  and  to  control  them- 
selves and  others,  and  who  shall  stand  fully  armed 
with  inventiveness  and  receptiveness  in  either  hand. 

VI 

At  the  present  moment  the  decorator  in  America, 
and,  we  may  affirm,  in  every  other  country  as  well, 
has  before  him  one  problem  far  more  immediate  and 
troublesome  than  any  other,  the  problem  of  finding 
at  his  hand  a body  of  men  able  and  willing  to  weave, 
one  might  say,  the  ornamental  frame  of  a decorative 
system, while  he,  the  master,  puts  on  the  main  motive; 
or,  in  plainer  English,  young  assistants  who  are  ca- 
pable of  painting  with  surety,  swiftness,  delicacy, 
and  vigor  the  ornamental  forms,  vegetable  or  ani- 
mal, or  simply  geometrical  patterns,  which  in  all 
ages  have  surrounded,  supported,  and  based  the 
panels  executed  by  the  masters  of  the  figure,  whether 
in  painting  or  sculpture.  These  panels  have  been 
usually  denominated  more  important  than  the  rest 
of  the  decoration,  and  they  are  so;  they  are  more 
focal,  and  their  organization  is  of  a higher  and  more 
exacting  character,  but  without  the  support  fur- 
nished by  the  ornamentalist  they  would  be  lonely, 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  165 


and  the  ensemble  of  the  room  would  seem  decora- 
tively  thin  and  bleak.  And  exactly  here  is  to  be 
found  the  weakness  of  the  present  day  situation. 

When  Raphael  designed  decoratively  magnificent 
human  bodies  and  wanted  assistants  who  should 
keep  up  with  him  as  he  worked,  and  more  than 
keep  up,  indeed,  in  creating  huge  families  of  babies 
and  nereids  and  tritons,  semihuman  menageries  of 
satyrs  and  harpies  and  mermaids,  and  Armida’s 
gardens  of  fantastic  plant  life,  of  scrolls  that  battled 
with  each  other,  being  tipped  with  torsos  armed 
with  club  or  dagger,  of  flowers  blossoming  into 
emergent  figures;  when  he  needed  such  assistants, 
I say,  he  found  them  ready  at  hand.  They  had 
come  down  the  ages,  working  always  at  just  such 
problems;  under  the  eaves  of  Greek  or  Roman  tem- 
ples, chiselling  at  the  cornice;  setting  the  tesserce 
of  glass  or  stone  in  Byzantine  cupolas;  hacking 
out  uncouth  Romanesque  monsters  and  braiding 
stone  into  stone.  And  until  the  sixteenth  century 
they  had  been  very  close  to  the  master,  so  close 
indeed  that  their  names  were  exchangeable  with  his 
in  the  cathedrals  of  the  north.  But  with  Raphael 
and  his  contemporaries  the  master  began  to  tower 
and  to  specialize,  while  followed  and  surrounded  by 
scores  of  pupils.  More  and  more  his  part  of  the 
decoration  began  to  be  of  paramount  interest  to  the 
client;  more  and  more  the  framing  became  a mere 
matter  of  course,  a compilation,  a heaping  together 


1 66  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


by  men  who  now  had  within  easy  reach  such  an 
exhaustless  cornucopia  of  material  invented  in  a 
more  creative  past  that  they  had  only  to  dip  care- 
less hands  into  the  medley  and  apply  what  they 
brought  out  with  more  or  less  of  taste.  And  it  soon 
became  less  rather  than  more.  Even  so  early  as 
with  the  Caracci,  although  there  still  remained 
enough  of  the  grand  souffle  to  remind  us  of  the  ro- 
bust health  of  a more  serene  time,  there  began  a 
heaping  up  of  motive  which  cloyed  and  irritated 
even  where  it  amused. 

Take,  for  instance,  Annibale’s  Jupiter  and  Juno 
in  his  famous  series  in  Jacopo  della  Porta’s  great 
gallery  of  Paul  Ill’s  palace.  The  goddess  is  still 
delightful,  in  a sort  of  post-Farnesina  fashion,  but 
the  Olympian  couple  has  to  be  surrounded  by  grad- 
uated giants,  heroic,  academic,  of  all  sizes,  and 
pushing  themselves  into  every  possible  coign  of  van- 
tage, as  if  the  artist  had  said:  “Only  see  how  I can 
draw  muscles  and  vary  postures,  and  just  realize 
how  clever  I am  at  squeezing  in  more  and  more 
figures.” 

This  facile  cleverness  increased  at  the  expense  of 
seriousness.  With  Annibale  Caracci  there  remained 
still  much  of  the  grand  style,  but  already  the  sep- 
aration was  widening  between  the  master  who  made 
carefully  considered  studies  for  his  figures  and  the 
man  who  composed  frames  for  the  same. 

And  it  widened  more  and  more.  Ghirlandajo’s 


Copyright,  lQii , by  Joseph  Lauber 

Joseph  Lauber:  “The  Pilgrimage  of  Life.”  Window  in  the  First 
Congregational  Church,  Montclair,  N.  J. 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  167 


garzone  di  bottega  took  from  his  master’s  hands  the 
drawings  for  figures  and  painted  them  under  the 
master’s  eyes  on  some  chest  front  or  cupboard 
panels,  where  the  master  himself  retouched  them. 
Here,  then,  was  a carved  wood  sofa,  made  through- 
out in  Ghirlandajo’s  shop,  by  himself  and  young 
assistants,  who  might  afterwards  become  famous 
painters  and  sculptors.  But  later,  as  the  years 
went  on,  the  ornamentalist  moved  his  shop  to  the 
other  side  of  the  way  and  sold  his  own  sofas,  and  if 
he  became  a master,  he  was  a master  of  sofas  and 
chairs,  and  designs  for  chintz  bed-hangings  and 
boudoirs.  And  all  this  was  admirable  except  the 
separation.  To  the  new  development  we  owe  the 
Adams  and  Chippendales,  and  the  hundred  French 
masters  of  dainty  decorative  detail,  for  if  the  great 
rooms  of  Fontainebleau  were  unreproducible,  ele- 
gance had  become  almost  universal  in  the  pal- 
aces of  eighteenth-century  France,  and  the  Galerie 
d’Apollon,  for  instance,  is  a superb  example  of  dec- 
oration created,  in  part  at  least,  in  very  late  times 
indeed. 

But  a line  of  purely  artificial  cleavage  had  been 
created  between  so-called  artist  and  so-called  arti- 
san— as  if  a man  who  loved  and  felt  line  and  mass, 
style,  and  color,  could  ever  be  anything  but  an  artist. 
Every  branch" of  art  was  still  respected;  but  in  1780 
the  engravers  on  copper  who  frequented  the  apart- 
ment of  Madame  Roland’s  father  were  a good  deal 


168  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 


further  removed  from  the  premier  architecte  du  roi 
than  was  Cellini  from  Michelangelo.  And  if  such 
separation  existed  in  a great  art  centre  in  1780,  by 
i860  and  in  America  there  was  practically  extinc- 
tion of  one  end  of  the  line,  for,  as  we  have  said  be- 
fore, in  “ mediaeval  New  York”  the  fresco-painter 
lived  in  the  vestibule  between  front  door  and  storm- 
door  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his  career. 

And  now  after  this  decline  of  the  artist-artisan, 
we  have  to  get  back  again  somewhere  near  to  the 
situation  as  it  was  in  the  best  days  of  decoration. 
For  several  years  we  have  been  on  the  upward 
trend;  highly  skilled  artisan-artists  are  now  to  be 
found  in  America  in  the  employment  of  decorative 
firms  whose  names  are  a credit  to  our  country,  and 
are  known  abroad  as  well  as  at  home.  But  these 
artisans  are  not  accessible  to  our  individual  painters 
unless  their  commission  happens  to  come  through 
some  particular  business  house.  A few,  a very  few, 
men  have  been  struggling  valiantly  and  success- 
fully at  general  interior  schemes  of  decoration,  and 
have  been  creating  little  bands  of  skilled  assistants 
of  their  own.  But  there  are  not  enough  of  these  to 
go  around,  and  here  is  the  crying  need  of  decorative 
art  in  America. 

As  soon  as  a large  body  of  truly  accomplished 
ornamentalists  has  been  created,  just  so  soon  will 
such  figure-painters  as  are  by  temperament  and 
training  true  designers,  be  able  to  handle  currently 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  169 


important  decorative  schemes.  We  have  a few  now 
who  can  do  so,  but  we  should  have  many.  When  a 
dozen  cities  at  a time  inaugurate  such  schemes  as 
they  will  by  and  by,  then  fifty  designers  and  five 
hundred  ornamentalists  will  have  their  hands  full. 
And  it  seems  as  if  this  problem  were  at  last  to  find 
its  solution  through  the  initiation  of  the  Society 
of  Beaux  Arts  Architects,  and  as  if  the  capstone 
would  be  set  upon  this  achievement  by  the  in- 
stitution of  the  American  Academy  of  Fine  Arts  in 
Rome. 

The  Beaux  Arts  Architects  have  with  extraordi- 
nary enthusiasm,  replied  to  by  extraordinary  suc- 
cess, set  on  foot  an  “Atelier  System”  of  competitions 
through  which  beginners  in  architectural  design 
shall  be  trained;  the  National  Sculpture  Society 
and  the  Society  of  Mural  Painters  are  following  suit; 
and  to  the  flower  of  the  young  men  thus  trained, 
the  Academy  of  Rome  opens  its  competitions  and 
fellowships,  offering  the  opportunity  of  three  years 
of  harmonious,  united  collaboration  between  archi- 
tect, sculptor,  and  painter,  in  the  city  which  can 
unroll  before  their  eyes  the  most  uninterrupted  suc- 
cession of  masterpieces. 

Here  surely  at  last  will  be  the  corpus  of  trained 
material  which  shall  permit  each  artist,  under  the 
architect,  wholly  to  carry  out  his  scheme — not  con- 
duct it  a certain  distance  only  to  place  it  in  the 
hands  of  another  who  shall  piece  it  out.  Thus  at 


1 7o  MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS 

last  each  man  will  be  able  to  solve  his  own  problem, 
keeping  in  respectful  consideration  the  problem  of 
the  man  at  his  elbow,  and  not  infringing;  but  being 
forever  freed  from  the  necessity  of  accepting  re- 
sponsibility from  any  one  save  from  him  who  is 
distinctly  his  ranking  officer.  And  finally,  through 
this  development,  the  man  who  has  had  nothing 
but  his  personal  equipment  to  count  upon  can  find 
a collateral  equipment  made  to  his  hand,  ready  to 
be  used  by  and  under  him.  Mutuality  of  compre- 
hension and  effort  will  still  be  infinitely  helpful, 
because  one  man’s  area  of  work  will  border  an- 
other’s, but  dual  control  will  cease;  and  when  A 
has  painted  his  panel  he  will  not  be  obliged  to 
hand  it  over  to  B to  give  it  a background,  but  will 
himself  control  clever  hands,  which  shall  surround 
it  with  its  definitive  setting. 

A few  men  have  already  learned  to  control  each  his 
own  staff  of  artisans.  To  them  we  must  be  grate- 
ful indeed  for  what  they  have  done,  and  to  them  we 
must  confidently  appeal  for  help  to  widen  the  cir- 
cle. And  they  will  not  lose  by  such  promoting  of 
knowledge;  they  will  gain,  for  with  acquired  surety 
of  greater  excellence  will  come  greater  confidence 
on  the  part  of  the  architects  and  such  a widening  of 
the  field  of  opportunity  as  we  do  not  yet  realize. 
For  indeed  if  this  field  is  rightly  cultivated,  no  one 
to-day  can  foresee  how  great  its  yield  may  be.  We 
have  almost  unlimited  territory,  almost  unlimited 


Anthony  N.  Brady,  Albany,  N.  Y. 

imple  of  decoration  applied  to  private  residences 


MUTUALITY  OF  MURAL  PAINTERS  171 


wealth,  and  there  surely  has  been  no  such  oppor- 
tunity since  the  Renaissance. 

This  chapter  upon  Mutuality  has  been  necessarily 
long  and  complicated  by  so  much  explanatory  detail 
that  a short  resume  of  desiderata  seems  necessary. 
These  reduced  to  their  lowest  terms  would  seem  to 
be:  First,  that  one  painter  (under  the  architect) 
should  be  in  actual  not  nominal  control  of  the  col- 
oring of  the  room  and  of  the  sum  of  money  appro- 
priated to  execute  the  same;  and  that  he  should  be 
responsible  for  the  result.  It  might  be  Mr.  Painter 
or  it  might  be  Mr.  Gilder,  but  he  should  control, 
and  he  should  be  responsible  for  the  result. 

Second,  that  as  soon  as  the  architect’s  drawing 
is  done,  the  painter  (and  sculptor  too)  should  see  it 
and  decide  (under  the  architect)  just  how  much  or 
how  little,  how  rich  or  how  severe,  mural  painting 
and  sculpture  should  be  placed  upon  the  walls. 

Third,  that  all  having  been  planned  as  far  as  pos- 
sible at  the  inception  of  the  work,  in  the  carrying 
out  of  the  latter  the  architect  should  insist  that  the 
painter  keep  in  close  and  constant  touch  with  all  his 
collaborators  in  the  room,  whether  practitioners  of 
the  major  or  the  minor  arts. 


VII 

SIGNIFICANCE  IN  MURAL  PAINTING 


VII 


SIGNIFICANCE  IN  MURAL  PAINTING 

I 

A consideration  of  the  first  importance  in  mural 
painting  is  subject,  or  what  I should  prefer  to  call 
significance.  And  here  at  once  we  have  to  break  a 
lance  with  those  who  make  the  usual  attack  in  their 
catch-phrase:  “Art  for  art’s  sake.”  Good  art  is  al- 
ways art  for  its  own  sake,  and  often  for  the  sake  of 
much  beside.  If  you  begin  to  value  it  for  its  limi- 
tations, you  are  in  danger.  Cloistered  growth  is 
precious,  but  once  matured  let  it  come  forth  and 
spread  and  climb  and  cover  the  cathedral  front. 

It  is  true  that  in  a decoration,  pattern  should  ap- 
peal first  of  all — pattern  and  color  and  style — and 
to  some  extent  this  applies  to  every  good  picture, 
decoration  or  not.  The  sensitive  observer  quite 
forgets  subject  in  undergoing  the  first  delightful 
shock  of  a beautiful  piece  of  work.  Indeed,  I will  go 
so  far  as  to  say  that  a decoration  is  not  thoroughly 
good  unless  it  would  look  well  upside  down  just  as 
pattern;  but  besides  having  pattern,  color,  style,  the 
decoration  in  a building  which  belongs  to  the  public 

i7S 


176 


SIGNIFICANCE  IN 


must  speak  to  the  people — to  the  man  in  the  street. 
It  must  embody  thought  and  significance,  and  that 
so  plainly  that  he  who  runs  may  read. 

Literary  art  is  a bogie  phrase.  The  oft-quoted 
Frith’s  “ Railway  Station”  or  “Derby  Day”  is  not 
literary  art,  but  trivial  incident  rather.  To  the  world 
and  in  the  past  the  art  which  we  call  literary  has 
been  the  art  of  the  ages  telling  stories  to  a series  of 
listening  generations,  of  heathen  myth  and  Christian 
legend;  of  Greek  masters  showing  how  Theseus 
quarrelled  with  the  centaurs  at  supper;  of  Botticelli 
and  his  pupils  rehearsing  the  tales  of  Lucian  or 
Boccaccio;  of  Raphael  telling  Bible  stories  in  woven 
silk;  of  Michelangelo  unrolling  upon  the  Sistine 
vaulting,  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  thunder  and 
lightning  of  his  own  mighty  inspiration,  the  whole 
story  of  man’s  birth  and  fall  and  redemption. 

It  is  true  that  these  were  not  new  stories;  the 
spectator  was  acquainted  with  them  already  so  that 
he  could  pay  due  attention  to  painting  and  drawing 
and  modelling.  He  was  not  entangled  by  the  com- 
plicated or  set  guessing  by  the  recondite,  and  he  was 
able  to  give  his  thought  as  much  to  the  manner  as 
to  the  matter.  But  they  were  stories,  graphic  pres- 
entations of  traditions  which  lay  close  to  the  roots 
of  the  race,  memories  of  storms  which  had  rocked 
its  cradle,  milestones  and  millennial-stones  of  its 
evolution.  The  very  fact  that  all  this  story  was 
familiar  proved  how  man  had  clung  to  the  tell- 


New  York  City 


MURAL  PAINTING 


1 77 


mg.  The  opponent  of  so-called  literary  art  will 
have  a bad  time  to-day  if  he  will  honestly  consider 
his  position  in  detail.  What  is  Greek  vase-paint- 
ing? Story-telling.  What  do  the  walls  of  Egypt  tell 
us  ? The  same  stories  of  a hundred  deities  ten  thou- 
sand times  repeated.  What  is  the  graphic  art  of 
the  Roman  Empire?  The  story  of  the  divinized  com- 
monwealth and  of  the  imperial  houses.  What  were 
the  beautifully  simple  and  prototypically  artistic  fres- 
coes of  the  Italian  trecento?  Stories,  stories,  stories! 
It  was  as  dramaturgist  that  Giotto  leaped  at  a 
bound  into  the  heart  of  the  century,  and  so  affirmed 
himself  there  that  for  a hundred  years  no  one  could 
succeed  him.  With  Giotto,  Madonna  and  the 
Baby,  St.  Joseph  and  the  Angels,  and  the  rest 
ceased  to  be  merely  beautiful  decorative  spots  on 
the  walls,  and  the  delighted  spectator,  instead  of 
taking  them  upon  faith  as  traditions  only,  could 
actually  make  out  what  they  were  doing! 

What  are  the  frescoes  of  the  fifteenth  century? 
Stories,  incidentally  stuffed  with  portraits.  What 
the  great  canvases  of  the  Venetians?  Stories,  inter- 
twisted, Biblical  and  mythological.  What  the  cycles 
of  Tintoretto?  Stories  which  are  often  poems  (and 
if  you  say  to  me  that  Tintoretto  is  loveliest  when  a 
lyric  poet,  I answer:  granted,  but  he  is  epic  in  most 
of  his  work).  What  is  Rembrandt?  A dreamer  of 
dreams.  Rubens?  A rehearser  of  pageants.  They 
are  story-tellers,  both  of  them. 


i7» 


SIGNIFICANCE  IN 


Say,  if  you  will,  that  there  is  no  art  but  portrait 
or  landscape  painting — that  at  least  is  a position;  but 
if  you  are  not  careful,  and  if  you  begin  to  study  the 
character  of  your  sitter  or  the  character  of  nature, 
there  you  are  again  upon  the  edge  of  story-telling. 
In  fact,  you  can  no  more  draw  a line  between  lit- 
erary and  non-literary  art  than  you  can  make  a 
rule  for  the  imitation  or  non-imitation  of  nature. 
Indeed,  it  would  seem  rather  that  we  have  not  told 
our  story  intensely  enough.  It  is,  perhaps,  more  the 
superficiality  of  our  speech  than  its  literary  quality 
that  weakens  it. 

The  distinctions  which  the  purist  makes  are  cu- 
riously indicative  of  his  bias.  If  we  are  shown  a 
drawing  by  Millet  of  a girl  in  a pool  of  water,  the 
purist  accepts  it  at  once  as  artistic,  not  literary;  if 
Rembrandt  has  called  a nude  figure  Bathsheba, 
that  passes  also  as  tolerable  in  a remote  seventeenth 
century;  but  if  you  adopt  the  same  label  to-day  it 
would  be,  in  the  opinion  of  many,  an  undignified 
concession.  And  indeed  it  probably  would  be  un- 
dignified because  perfunctorily  and  carelessly  chosen. 
If  the  water  in  Rembrandt’s  pools  of  Siloam  or 
Bethesda,  or  what  not,  came  out  of  Dutch  canals, 
Rembrandt’s  feeling  was  saturated  with  the  sense  of 
Holy  Writ,  whereas  a man  painting  for  the  Salon 
to-day  would  name  his  Bathsheba  thoughtlessly,  and 
might  probably  find  a more  fitting  title.  And  this 
helps  my  contention  instead  of  hurting  it,  for  truly 


MURAL  PAINTING 


179 

I believe  that  we  are  too  little  rather  than  too  much 
concerned  with  significance. 

But  whatever  we  may  think  about  the  easel  pic- 
ture there  is  no  room  for  doubt  regarding  the  mural 
decoration  of  a public  building.  A public  decora- 
tion is  sure  to  be  in  part,  at  any  rate,  a commemo- 
ration; in  the  public  building  the  community  cele- 
brates itself  and  is  preached  to;  meaning  it  wants, 
and  meaning  of  the  highest.  If  the  commissioners 
of  a State  capitol  came  to  a mural  painter  it  would  be 
preposterous  for  him  to  say  to  them:  “ Beauty  is  all 
that  you  require  in  your  rooms — beauty  of  pattern 
and  line,  color  and  figures.”  They  would  reply: 
“We  have  suffered  and  fought  in  the  cause  of  prog- 
ress and  civilization;  remind  us  of  it  upon  our  walls. 
We  have  bred  heroes;  celebrate  them.’, 

When  I received  a commission  to  paint  in  the 
new  court-house  of  Baltimore,  several  gentlemen  in 
that  city  invited  me  to  dine  with  them  to  consider 
the  subject  to  be  undertaken,  and  I was  impressed 
by  the  variety  and  importance  of  their  souvenirs. 
One  recalled  his  grandfather’s  revolutionary  mem- 
ories; a second  had  sat  by  Peter  Cooper  during  the 
first  railway  ride  made  in  America;  a third,  President 
Gilman,  of  Johns  Hopkins,  said:  “I  have  seen  three 
of  the  greatest  living  European  scientists  literally 
on  their  knees  before  the  lines  ruled  upon  glass  by 
one  of  our  professors.”  So  they  went  on  telling  of 
one  and  another  achievement  meet  for  celebration, 


180  SIGNIFICANCE  IN 

and  finally  decided  that  the  resignation  of  his  com- 
mission as  commander-in-chief  by  Washington  at 
Annapolis  was  their  “great  central  act  of  equity,” 
best  worth  commemorating  in  the  history  of  Mary- 
land. Not  every  State  has  so  deep  and  so  full  a 
background  as  that  historic  commonwealth;  never- 
theless, wherever  the  decorator  might  go,  up  and 
down  these  United  States,  he  would  find  something 
to  commemorate.  We  have  to  celebrate  the  con- 
quest of  a continent  by  the  plough.  Our  great  in- 
ternecine quarrel  has  been  gloriously  rounded  by 
reconciliation  into  a subject  for  commemoration  by 
both  North  and  South.  We  can  tell  upon  our  walls 
of  invention,  achievement,  growth  of  many  kinds. 
We  have  enough  to  relate  to  justify  study  of  all  the 
methods  of  pictorial  commemoration  in  the  past, 
and  I am  convinced  that  methods,  new  to  some  ex- 
tent, modified  certainly,  will  be  found  to  meet  new 
needs. 

II 

Artists  naturally  vary  in  their  bias,  their  sym- 
pathies, but  if  they  will  attentively  study  the  ques- 
tion of  the  decoration  of  public  buildings,  they  will 
find  it  an  astonishingly  inclusive  one,  and  discover 
that  nearly  every  form  of  art  may  contribute  to  the 
evolution  of  a national  or  municipal  monument. 

Probably  the  masters  of  the  Italian  Renaissance, 
who  studied  both  antiquity  and  the  trecento , have 


MURAL  PAINTING 


181 


prescribed  to  all  time  the  decorative  formula  for 
some  of  the  most  important  and  what  we  may  per- 
haps call  most  architectural  parts  of  a public  build- 
ing. It  is  a formula  within  which  wide  liberty  is 
possible,  as  wide  indeed  as  is  the  gamut  run  from 
Giotto  through  Masaccio  to  Raphael,  even  to  Vero- 
nese and  his  late  descendant  Tiepolo.  It  is  the 
kind  of  art,  the  system  if  you  will,  which  is  account- 
able for  such  things  as  Raphael’s  “Jurisprudence,” 
Michelangelo’s  “ Sibyls  and  Prophets,”  for  those 
arrangements  which  are  apt  to  be  symbolical  and 
are  certain  to  be  architectonic.  It  is  the  form  of 
decoration  which  Mr.  Kenyon  Cox  has  so  illumi- 
natingly  advocated  in  his  book  on  the  classic  spirit. 

Although  I enthusiastically  follow  Mr.  Cox  in  his 
love  for  this  side  of  art,  I believe  that  a more  vivid 
and  appealing  form  will  be  that  which  directly  cele- 
brates the  happenings  and  the  people  of  the  city, 
county,  or  State  for  which  the  building  stands.  This 
is  only  natural  and  human,  and  the  more  our  ap- 
peal is  directed  toward  this  humanity  the  sooner 
will  decoration  strike  deep  root  in  America. 

Our  native  schools  of  art  have  produced  talent 
of  a high  order  devoted  to  portrait  and  landscape; 
but  it  has  not  yet  been  recognized,  because  so  little 
really  serious  consideration  has  been  given  to  a defi- 
nition of  mural  painting  that  the  latter  should  in- 
clude within  its  scope  both  the  portrait  and  the 
landscape.  We  have  mentioned  in  a foregoing  pas- 


182 


SIGNIFICANCE  IN 


sage  a decorated  room  which  was  spoiled  by  the  in- 
troduction of  portraits.  It  was  the  improper  method 
of  their  introduction  which  did  the  mischief.  Por- 
traits properly  introduced  should  be  among  the 
most  valuable  assets  of  the  architect  and  painter. 
Historic  celebration,  whether  local  or  national,  im- 
poses them,  and  they  are  intrinsically  dignified.  A 
hall  of  portraits  where  the  latter  are  suitably  pan- 
elled into  handsome  walls  should  be  an  indispen- 
sable adjunct  of  every  great  public  building,  but 
to  box  these  portraits  into  heavy  frames  and  scatter 
them  about  is  utterly  to  misunderstand  their  deco- 
rative purpose  and  availability.  To  see  how  ad- 
mirably portraiture  can  be  combined  with  pictorial 
and  sculptural  decoration  of  an  ideal  or  symbolic 
character  we  have  only  to  enter  the  Galerie  d’  Apollon 
of  the  Louvre,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  rooms  in 
the  world,  and  equally  dependent  upon  many  dif- 
ferent elements  of  beauty. 

From  the  comprehension  of  the  use  of  the  por- 
trait in  decoration  to  the  use  of  landscape  is  only 
another  step.  Celebration  of  the  beauty  of  our  na- 
tional or  local  scenery  in  State  capitols  and  town 
halls  is  as  suitable  as  celebration  of  men  and  actions. 
In  the  sixteenth  century  we  find  wall-pictures  of 
Tuscan  cities  painted  at  the  initiative  of  a Medici, 
and  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries 
famous  towns  and  ports  of  France  appear  upon  the 
walls  by  royal  order.  To-day  you  may  see  many 


George  W.  Maynard:  Ceiling,  Library  of  Congress,  Washington,  D.  C. 
Example  of  the  use  of  decorative  figures  and  pure  ornament  in  nearly  equal  proportions 


MURAL  PAINTING 


183 


mural  paintings  of  like  character  in  the  council- 
houses  of  Germany,  and  they  are  peculiarly  fitted 
to  the  great  railway  stations  and  post-offices. 

Not  very  many  years  ago  in  America  a feeling 
existed  that  the  success  of  the  mural  painter  was 
somewhat  antagonistic  to  that  of  the  genre-painter, 
the  landscape-painter,  the  portrait-painter.  Other 
artists  sometimes  felt  that  the  mural  painter  cov- 
ered space  wThich  might  well  be  given  to  works  of 
minor  size.  It  has  since  been  realized  that  there 
never  was  a more  complete  mistake,  for  it  is  un- 
likely that  one  square  yard  of  wall  surface  has  been 
taken  by  the  mural  painter  from  his  comrades  who 
practise  other  branches  of  art.  Commercialism  has 
again  and  again  taken  such  walls  and  covered  them 
with  costly  textiles  or  marbles,  but  it  would  be  dif- 
ficult to  find  a case  where  there  has  been  an  impor- 
tant sacrifice  to  mural  painting.  We  shall  do  well 
to  recognize  as  soon  as  possible  that  the  wall  is  the 
natural  place  for  painting,  and  that  painting  is  of 
all  things  the  most  appropriate  decoration  for  a 
wall,  because  it  is  of  all  systems  of  decoration  the 
most  easily  varied  and  the  most  susceptible  of  a 
high  development.  A painting  is  not  a thing  to  be 
fastened  on  a hat  or  worn  like  a sword-hilt.  It  is 
a fixed  and  permanent  ornament,  and  the  only  argu- 
ment in  favor  of  hanging  it  up  in  little  boxes  in  our 
private  houses  is  that  in  our  young  civilization  we 
change  even  our  walls  very  often.  Where  the  wall  is 


184 


SIGNIFICANCE  IN 


to  be  reasonably  permanent,  as  in  our  public  build- 
ings, there  it  should  be  planned  for  the  painting, 
and  the  painting  planned  for  it,  so  that  landscape- 
painter  and  portrait-painter  may  become  mural 
painters  side  by  side  with  those  who  now  bear  that 
especial  designation  and  are  members  of  that  spe- 
cial guild. 

For  thousands  of  years  all  painting  was  mural, 
and  when  the  artist  executed  any  other  sort  of 
pictorial  work  it  was  solely  and  wholly  because  he 
wished  it  to  be  easily  transportable.  From  Giotto 
to  Giorgione,  the  Italian  masters  painted  little  pan- 
els for  chest-fronts  or  cupboards,  and  others  which 
set  under  gilded  Gothic  canopies  and  pinnacles  or 
between  Renaissance  pilasters  could  be  easily  moved 
about  from  oratory  to  bedhead.  But  the  large 
altar-piece,  even  if  for  convenience  it  were  executed 
on  panel  in  the  studio,  once  carried  to  church  or 
chapel  was  firmly  fastened  to  its  definitive  place, 
and  became  almost  as  much  a part  of  the  wall  as 
if  it  were  a fresco,  while  its  projecting  frame  of 
carved  wood  or  marble,  the  only  thing  about  the 
altar-piece  which  in  any  way  differentiated  it  from 
an  out-and-out  mural  painting,  was  carefully  planned 
and  designed  to  fit  its  place  and  harmonize  with  its 
surroundings. 

The  picture-gallery  is  an  established  modern  in- 
stitution; of  that  there  is  no  doubt,  and  it  will  endure. 
Nevertheless,  it  points  the  moral  which  I am  trying 


MURAL  PAINTING  185 

to  enforce.  Witness  the  action  of  the  harassed  mem- 
ber of  a hanging  committee  who  does  his  utmost 
to  get  away  from  the  cancelling  effect  of  crowded 
juxtaposition  and  tries  his  best  to  space  his  pictures 
and  compose  them  decoratively.  In  other  words, 
he  endeavors  by  the  distribution  and  composition 
of  his  sizes,  shapes,  tones,  and  colors  to  make  his 
wall  as  much  as  possible  like  one  which  an  architect 
would  consider  a decorative  element  of  a great  room. 
Such  action  is  enough  to  prove  my  point,  and  it  is 
certain  that  landscape  and  portrait  can  find  their 
place,  and  to  their  own  great  advantage,  in  a highly 
developed  system  of  decoration. 

Certain  catch-phrases  are  frequently  used  by  those 
who  would  argue  for  or  against  changes.  One  of 
these  is:  “You  must  keep  your  wall  flat.”  It  is  not 
unlikely  that  some  one  might  employ  it  in  disputing 
my  proposition,  saying,  “ If  you  are  going  to  paint 
landscapes  and  portraits,  do  you  not  run  the  risk 
of  making  holes  in  your  wall  ? Would  you  not  be 
compelled  to  adopt  a certain  decorative  treatment 
in  your  landscapes?”  To  this  the  reply  is  that  all 
art  is  a convention,  and  that  no  matter  what  you 
paint  you  have  to  take  into  consideration  conditions 
of  one  kind  or  another.  If  you  go  out-of-doors  and 
paint  a dozen  different  landscapes,  looked  at  ever 
so  objectively,  you  would  be  confronted  by  certain 
new  conditions  the  moment  you  brought  your  can- 
vases into  the  house,  and,  governed  by  these,  you 


SIGNIFICANCE  IN 


1 86 

would  seek  the  best  light  to  place  them  in,  the  best 
color  and  tone  of  background  to  set  them  against. 
If  such  is  the  case,  why  not  go  further  if  you  have 
a room  to  decorate  with  landscapes  and  deliberately 
/accord  to  them  something  of  the  so-called  decorative 
treatment?  The  figure-painter  often  wears  chains 
of  this  kind  with  advantage;  if  so,  may  not  the  land- 
scape-painter as  well?  As  for  the  portrait,  prop- 
erly panelled  into  the  right  sort  of  wall  covering, 
it  would  look  well  almost  anywhere.  Flatness  is 
called  decorative;  yet  it  is  not  always  the  highest 
of  decorative  qualities.  Melozzo  da  Forli’s  portrait 
of  Platina  in  the  Vatican  offers  an  ideal  example 
of  decorative  flatness,  yet  Velasquez’s  “Innocent 
Tenth”  (which  is  not  at  all  flat)  panelled  into  good 
woodwork  or  the  right  kind  of  marble  would  make 
a still  better  decoration. 

In  a word,  there  is  no  objection  to  having  a spot 
on  your  wall  provided  you  build  up  to  it  gradually 
or  lead  the  eye  away  from  it  so  gently  that  it  for- 
gets to  note  it  as  a spot. 


Ill 

A hundred  of  the  greatest  masters  in  the  past  have 
believed  in  significance  and  wrought  it  into  their 
work,  and  a thousand  other  lesser  masters  have  fol- 
lowed in  their  footsteps. 

Is  it  to  be  reserved  for  Americans  to  declare  that, 


MURAL  PAINTING 


187 


like  the  prince  in  “Much  Ado  about  Nothing/’ 
we  are  too  fine  for  daily  wear  of  significance?  If 
the  high  thinkers  are  to  espouse  and  accept  for  lord 
and  master  only  the  art  which  eschews  significance 
as  too  disturbing,  will  not  the  rest  of  us,  the  great 
public,  like  Beatrice  in  the  play,  be  obliged  “to  have 
another  husband  for  working-days”?  May  not 
some  one  in  the  future  suggest  that  we  were  rather 
too  threadbare  than  too  fine  for  daily  wear,  and  that 
what  compelled  our  lack  of  significance  was  just 
simply  poverty  of  invention  ? 

Some  such  suspicion  might  be  born  and  disturb 
us  both  as  artists  and  patriotic  Americans  were  it 
not  dissipated  absolutely  by  one  really  comprehen- 
sive glance  over  the  field  of  American  art.  Right  at 
the  side  of  our  painters  and  at  least  abreast  of  them 
stand  the  American  illustrators,  at  once  virile  and 
significant  in  their  art.  If  the  illustrators  can  com- 
pass this  double  forcibleness,  cannot  the  painters 
learn  to  do  it?  Is  there  anything  in  color  to  make 
it  an  inevitable  solvent  of  such  a bond?  To  me 
there  are  few  things  more  preposterous,  or  more 
hurtful  to  American  art,  than  the  imaginary  line  of 
cleavage  which  has  been  established  between  the 
illustrator  and  the  easel  painter  and  between  them 
both  and  the  mural  painter. 

To  each  of  the  three  branches  of  art  certain  rules 
of  technical  procedure  are  special,  but  if  I may  be 
allowed  to  pun  upon  words  these  are  only  the  twigs 


1 88 


SIGNIFICANCE  IN 


upon  the  branches;  the  vital  sap  is  in  their  message 
to  the  world,  and  significance  belongs  to  all  of  the 
three  alike  and  may  not  be  forfeited  by  one  of  them 
save  at  grave  cost.  If  an  enlightened  foreigner 
came  to  America  to  weigh  our  art  I would  take  him 
to  the  illustrators,  with  pride  in  the  fact  that  in 
them  he  would  find  full  measure  of  all-round  capacity 
based  upon  well-laid  foundations,  a rich  and  varied 
technic,  a mastery  of  means  which  had  not  been 
paid  for  by  any  lack  of  significance. 

The  easel  painters  and  mural  painters  and  illus- 
trators need  each  other;  especially  do  the  two  for- 
mer classes  need  the  latter;  the  gradual  infiltration 
of  fundamental  ideas  from  one  class  into  another 
would  be  infinitely  helpful  to  American  art,  and 
would  bring  about  the  constitution  of  exhibitions  in 
regard  to  which  the  critic  could  no  longer  say:  “Here 
is  skill  without  originality;  here  is  brilliancy  with- 
out invention.” 

The  more  one  thinks  of  it  the  more  one  is  aston- 
ished that  meaning,  so  delightful  to-day  in  illustra- 
tion, so  delightful  four  hundred  years  ago  in  fresco 
and  painting,  should  now  be  taboo  before  the  gate- 
keeper of  an  exhibition  of  current  art  work. 

Some  one  may  say:  if  it  is  valuable,  how  does  it 
happen  that  subject,  so  called,  has  disappeared  from 
art?  The  answer  is  that  it  has  not  and  never  has 
disappeared  from  art  save  in  America.  The  French, 
inheritors  of  the  traditions  of  Greek  and  Italian  art, 


~ ^ M 

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MURAL  PAINTING 


189 


and  our  masters  in  modern  teaching,  have  been 
singularly  sane  and  catholic  until  very  lately.  They 
have  gone  on  painting  subjects  of  any  and  every  kind 
that  have  attracted  them,  for  before  everything  they 
have  been  tolerant.  In  the  last  two  decades  this 
tolerance  has  extended  to  technic  and  has  become 
laxity.  So  tolerant,  indeed,  they  have  been  that 
just  as  during  the  later  empire  all  the  deities  of  the 
world  were  worshipped  in  Rome,  so  in  Paris  the  air 
has  been  filled  with  theories  until  singleness  of  pur- 
pose has  been  stifled  and  practice  has  been  deeply 
overlaid  with  so  much  novelty,  imported  or  in- 
vented, that  at  last  this  novelty  could  no  longer  be 
assimilated  and  acute  indigestion  ensued.  Art  was 
auto-intoxicated.  Some  day  the  vermiform  appen- 
dix of  universal  license  will  be  extracted  and  the 
remembrance  that  all  art  is  a convention  will  soothe 
it  back  into  health.  But  we  must  not  impute  this 
overtoleration  to  catholicity  as  to  subject,  for  nota 
bene  it  has  not  been  subject  or  variety  of  subject 
that  has  created  this  disturbance;  it  has  been  theory 
of  presentation. 

The  French,  as  I have  said,  never  troubled  them- 
selves to  banish  subject.  In  England  and  Germany, 
especially  in  the  former,  a natural  reaction  followed 
a period  of  cheap  sentimentalism  or  frozen  classi- 
cism. The  primitive  painters,  Italian  or  Flemish, 
crowded  into  one  panel  or  canvas  repeated  agtion 
by  the  same  personages:  in  one  corner  the  saint  was 


190 


SIGNIFICANCE  IN 


baptized,  in  the  middle  he  performed  miracles,  in 
the  other  corner  he  was  beheaded,  and  above  he  was 
received  into  heaven.  A somewhat  similar  naivete 
in  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century  selected  all 
the  most  entertaining  events  that  could  come  about 
in  a railway  station,  for  instance,  and  crowded  them 
into  one  canvas.  So  in  battle-pieces  each  character 
was  occupied  by  taking  part  in  its  own  little  episode 
instead  of  being  absorbed  by  the  consciousness  of 
an  enemy  to  be  shot  at  or  shot  by.  This  art  in 
which  too  much  happened  was  easy  to  ridicule,  and 
was  followed  by  that  of  the  pre-Raphaelites  who  held 
fast  to  incident  but  tried  to  cast  it  in  poetic  form. 

Then  came  the  vogue  of  the  great  Velasquez  with 
the  wise  and  witty  sayings  of  his  apostle  Whistler. 
In  his  grave  and  lofty  symphony  of  black  and  white 
and  gray,  Velasquez  suppressed  the  negligible,  and 
Whistler,  whose  joy  was  mystification,  held  up 
eschewal  as  almost  the  cardinal  virtue.  A handle 
for  ridicule  he  could  find  easily,  and  he  stuck  so 
many  of  his  friends  and  foes  alike  full  of  barbed 
shafts  that  they  were  afraid  to  express  any  opinion 
save  that  to  leave  out  things  was  to  keep  within  the 
narrow  road  to  perfection.  This  is  a dangerous 
credo,  or  rather  lack  of  belief;  it  is  almost  as  hard 
to  leave  out  things  intelligently  as  to  put  them  in 
intelligently;  skilful  elimination  and  deliberate  omis- 
sion are  quite  different  things.  Undue  attention 
to  subject  will  hurt  an  artist  just  as  undue  atten- 


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191 

tion  to  anatomy — I mean  overemphasized  anatomy, 
or  any  other  research  pushed  to  excess — ^vvill  inter- 
fere with  the  effect  of  his  picture  as  an  ensemble. 
But  proper  consideration  at  one  time  or  another  is 
due  to  every  element  of  art. 

Probably  our  best  excuse  in  America  for  neglect  of 
subject  has  been  that  here  in  our  young  new  school, 
where  so  much  time  had  perforce  to  be  given  to 
purely  technical  considerations  of  line,  mass,  color, 
and  tone,  some  of  that  same  time  might  be  gained 
by  suppression  of  the  consideration  of  significance. 
This  was,  perhaps,  a not  unnatural  contention  on 
the  part  of  the  student,  and  may  have  been  for  a 
while  even  a helpful  one.  But  we  have  passed  far 
beyond  the  need  of  such  contention  now.  Amer- 
ican art  in  its  landscapes  and  portraits  is  in  full 
possession  of  a highly  developed  technic,  and  the 
time  is  ripe  for  a rounded  school  which  cannot  be 
complete  without  the  thorough  grasp  upon  signif- 
icance which  has  belonged  to  every  school  in  the 
past. 

If  significance  is  a desideratum  in  the  school  at 
large,  to  the  mural  painter  it  is  an  essential.  He 
must  realize  once  for  all  that  he  is  both  celebrant  and 
recorder.  He  must  possess  significance;  his  clients 
demand  it,  and  he  must  find  the  proper  place  for  it, 
that  is  to  say,  must  consider  not  only  the  character 
but  the  distribution  of  his  subjects.  What  is  suit- 
able for  one  place  in  the  building  is  eminently  un- 


192 


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fitting  for  another.  There  are  pendentives,  friezes, 
spandrels,  over-doors,  and  many  other  kinds  of 
spaces.  Certain  of  these,  especially  those  which 
are  unusual  in  shape,  such  as  spandrels  or  over- 
doors, will  require  special  treatment,  and  what  one 
may  call  essentially  decorative  figures,  while  his- 
torical subjects  will  demand  the  more  commonplace 
shapes  of  rectangular  panels,  or,  at  any  rate,  spaces 
upon  such  portions  of  the  walls  as  are  not  notably 
architectural,  that  is  to  say,  constructional. 

To  the  true  decorator  the  circumscribing  lines  of 
any  wall  or  ceiling  space  cry  aloud  announcing  their 
own  peculiar  decorative  needs,  and  it  is  at  once 
his  serious  consideration  and  his  great  pleasure  so 
to  compose  his  lines  and  masses  within  such  wall 
spaces  that  they  shall  re-echo  the  framing  and  in 
a delicate  way  repeat  some  of  the  important  lines 
of  the  architectural  ornament  which  lies  about  or 
near  them.  Of  this  particular  kind  of  composition 
Raphael  was  one  of  the  supreme  masters,  and  gen- 
erations of  artists  have  trodden  more  or  less  as- 
suredly in  his  footsteps. 

To  certain  limitations  the  mural  painter  must 
make  up  his  mind  once  for  all;  he  may  stretch  them 
occasionally  with  advantage,  but  not  burst  them. 
The  necessity  for  making  an  axial  composition  again 
and  again  imposes  heavy  drafts  upon  the  painter’s 
inventiveness,  and  he  must  be  a resourceful  man 
who  meets  them  repeatedly  without  becoming 


MURAL  PAINTING 


i93 


monotonous.  The  decorator  often  feels  that  he 
could  breathe  more  easily  if  he  might  deviate  from 
this  axial  arrangement  and  adopt  a freer  composi- 
tion— and  he  may  do  so  in  his  minor  lunettes  or 
panels,  but  when  he  comes  to  the  focal  decoration  at 
the  head,  say,  of  some  great  room,  the  architect 
knows  that  the  decoration  must  be  axial,  that  the 
mind  must  be  carried  through  the  eye  just  as  di- 
rectly up  the  centre  of  his  room  as  is  the  crank 
through  the  hull  of  an  ocean  liner. 

In  such  spaces  then  as  we  are  accustomed  to  con- 
sider essentially  architectural — spandrels,  depressed 
lunettes,  friezes — we  think  of  architectonic  arrange- 
ment, of  crouching  or  bending  figures  or  proces- 
sional people  marching  along  under  the  cornice,  but 
by  and  by  the  commissioners  say:  “Now,  let  us 
have  as  central  motive  for  our  room  something  from 
the  history  of  the  county,  the  famous  trial  of  A, 
the  celebrated  speech  of  B in  court,  or  the  signing 
of  such  and  such  a famous  act.”  The  decorator  is 
naturally  disconcerted  by  this  kind  of  subject  be- 
cause it  is  made  up  of  what  one  may  call  undecora- 
tive  quantities — groups  of  people  dressed  much  in  the 
same  way,  and  all  standing  or  sitting  much  in  the 
same  attitude  listening  to  the  trial  or  speech.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  commissioner  is  quite  as  naturally 
interested  in  such  subjects;  they  are  the  stuff  of 
which  his  county’s  history  is  made,  and  he  is  en- 
titled to  his  painted  souvenir.  If  the  scene  have 


194 


SIGNIFICANCE  IN 


only  ever  so  little  of  the  dramatic  in  it  we  can,  with 
a good  heart,  put  it  upon  one  of  the  big  rectangular 
wall  panels;  we  can  always  have  Gettysburgs  and 
Bunker  Hills  and  battles  of  Lake  Erie  on  such  sur- 
faces; but  when  it  comes  to  the  presentation  of 
homely  detail  and  quiet  groups  of  listening  figures, 
the  artist’s  task  becomes  more  difficult.  Sometimes 
the  light  can  be  made  so  decorative  a factor  that  it 
turns  the  subject’s  commonplaceness  into  romance, 
as  in  Robert  Reid’s  admirably  conceived  “ Speech 
of  Otis”  in  the  Boston  State  House,  or  again  some 
realistic  detail  may  be  ingeniously  and  decoratively 
insisted  upon,  as  in  the  famous  Velasquez  of  the 
Prado.  The  latter  is  one  of  the  realistic  subjects 
which  can  be  called  truly  decorative,  and  it  is  made 
so  largely  by  the  reduplication  of  a great  number  of 
parallel  spears  which  give  to  the  picture  its  name 
of  “The  Lances  of  Breda.” 

But  even  if  the  realistic  subject  be  troublesome  to 
treat,  I repeat  here,  with  emphasis,  what  I have  said 
before,  that  the  sooner  we  learn  to  celebrate  decora- 
tively the  happenings  of  our  own  time  and  people, 
the  sooner  our  decorative  painting  will  become 
firmly  rooted.  We  may  be  a little  misled  in  our 
consideration  of  ancient  art;  when  we  affirm  that 
it  is  more  often  idealistic  than  realistic,  we  perhaps 
slight  the  latter  side  of  it.  The  remote  and  quaint 
are  always,  to  a certain  extent,  synonymous,  and  for 
that  reason  we  are  apt  to  class  certain  figures  and 


H.  Siddons  Mowbray:  Decoration  in  the  University  Club  Library, 
New  York  City 

Example  of  a combination  of  personal  and  original  work  of  the  artist  with  a fifteenth- 
century  treatment  of  detail,  the  whole  adapted  to  the  modern  need 


MURAL  PAINTING 


i95 


costumes  as  idealistic,  which  to  their  creators  came 
much  nearer  to  being  realistic  than  we  suppose. 
Our  point  of  view  has  changed.  The  old  masters 
were  closer  to  their  public  than  we  are.  To-day  a 
nymph  is  further  from  our  daily  custom  (and  cos- 
tume!) than  she  was  from  that  of  Renaissance  Flor- 
ence. If  we  paint  her  in  bathing-dress  she  will  seem 
rather  an  advertisement  for  Atlantic  City  than 
something  which  has  stepped  out  of  contempora- 
neous poetry,  but  Botticelli’s  Virtues,  or  Beatitudes, 
or  Bacchants  might  illustrate  Poliziano’s  verses,  and 
yet  wear  gowns  very  little  removed  from  those  in 
which  the  Florentine  girls  shopped  upon  the  Ponte 
Vecchio. 

It  may  be  said : “ Ah,  yes,  they  went  picturesquely 
garbed,  we  are  unpicturesque.”  I do  not  think  that 
is  quite  enough  to  excuse  us.  It  is  true  that  far  dis- 
tant music  has  a charm  of  its  own;  one  hopes  that 
the  “Song  of  Salamis”  will  always  stir  us,  but 
“John  Brown’s  Body”  and  “Dixie”  are  stirring,  too, 
and  in  either  case  it  is  the  splendid  connotation  that 
appeals,  whether  from  Greece  or  from  our  own  battle- 
fields. I admit  that  in  their  electrical  lines  of  fire 
the  chariot  and  horses  of  the  Herald  Square  adver- 
tisement give  me  more  pleasure  than  a colossal 
siphon  squirting  sparks  into  an  illuminated  tumbler 
of  simulated  whiskey.  I admit  that  the  average 
boat,  beautiful  as  it  may  be  in  line,  is  not  quite 
so  gorgeously  picturesque  as  the  Viking’s  ship  with 


196 


SIGNIFICANCE  IN 


its  shields  arow,  its  painted  eyes  and  its  dragon-head. 
But  properly  treated,  the  contemporaneous  thing 
may  astonish  us  by  its  decorative  quality.  Every- 
thing fitted  to  do  its  work  has  style  of  a kind.  To 
the  mediaeval  man  Scripture  was  so  familiar  that 
certain  scenes  were  recognizable  even  when  mere 
vague  spots  of  color  or  black  and  white;  they  became 
real  hieroglyphs.  To-day  the  student  of  Italian  art 
knows  them  from  far  off,  seen  ever  so  hurriedly, 
and  says  to  himself  as  he  passes  some  distant  blur 
upon  a wall,  “Annunciation”  or  “Flight  into  Egypt” 
or  “Adoration  of  the  Magi.”  Now  it  is  the  loco- 
motive or  aeroplane  or  ocean  liner  that  the  crowd 
recognize,  no  matter  how  distant,  upon  the  adver- 
tisement. But  these  things  may  have  their  decora- 
tive quality:  locomotives,  Mrs.  Browning’s  “Steam- 
eagles,”  aeroplanes  even  more,  may  become  finely 
suggestive.  One  illustrator  may  be  required  to  pre- 
sent a battle-ship  so  baldly  that  every  plate  and 
rivet  shall  be  seen  in  place,  but  the  next  one  may  be 
permitted  to  generalize  till  he  shows  us  the  impres- 
sive shadowy  thing  which  towered  up  in  a panel 
upon  the  wall  of  one  of  the  exhibitions  of  the  Archi- 
tectural League;  and  so,  given  enough  power  in 
the  modern  artist,  we  may  finally  be  compelled  by 
him,  in  looking  at  his  spirited  figures,  to  conclude 
that  the  cowboy’s  yell  is  as  exciting  in  its  own  way 
as  the  “terrible  Juch  hei  saa  of  the  Vikings.” 

“ Nature  is  brimful  of  style,  ‘ search  and  ye  shall 


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197 


find/  was  written  in  the  Scriptures  for  us  painters/’ 
said  Bonnat  once  to  me  in  Paris.  And  we  must 
find  the  style  and  decorative  interest  in  the  con- 
temporary man,  woman,  and  child;  there  is  plenty 
of  it.  Only  look  at  our  street-babies  dancing  to  the 
hand-organ,  or  playing  in  the  flickering  light  of 
flaring  gas  torches  in  the  evening  where  workmen 
are  building  or  repairing!  Women  and  children  in- 
deed, especially  to-day  when  feminine  costume  is 
still  picturesque,  are  so  much  more  decorative  as  a 
factor  than  most  contemporary  men  that  the  artist 
hates  to  leave  them  out  of  his  canvas,  and  when  he 
has  men  only,  he  is  reduced  to  such  straits  in 
making  the  sad-colored  modern  trousers  tolerable 
that  he  execrates  the  memory  of  the  first  sans  culotte. 
Our  modern  workman,  however,  can  become  as  dec- 
orative a factor  as  the  craftsman  of  the  Renaissance. 
The  trousers,  strained  by  action  until  they  take  folds 
and  pleats  that  emphasize  muscular  effort,  are  quite 
different  from  the  fresh-from-the-tailor  article,  and 
when  strapped  in  at  the  ankle  make,  in  combina- 
tion with  the  flannel  shirt,  a costume  admirably 
adapted  to  artistic  treatment.  The  tailor-made  man 
taking  part  in  a social  function,  however  ceremo- 
nious, unless  he  wears  a uniform,  is  truly  a problem 
to  the  artist,  because  it  has  been  the  tailor’s  first 
business  to  keep  him  fashionably  conventional,  so 
that  he  soon  ceases  to  interest,  save  when  he  is 
treated  as  a portrait  and  by  a clever  painter. 


1 98 


SIGNIFICANCE  IN 


But  it  is  the  clever,  the  inventive  painter  only, 
whom  we  need  as  decorator.  If  he  is  clever  enough 
he  will  compel  interest  even  in  the  most  prosaic  of 
happenings.  The  men  of  the  Middle  Ages  and  the 
Renaissance  had  often  and  again  to  solve  the  prob- 
lem of  making  a commonplace  subject  decorative, 
and  they  did  it  with  aesthetic  tact  if  one  may  name 
it  so.  The  Venetians  signed  plenty  of  treaties,  and 
celebrated  the  same  in  pictured  panels,  but  above 
the  realistic  men  prosaically  grouped,  pen  in  hand, 
about  a table,  were  seen  Venice  and  her  attendant 
goddesses  throned  upon  clouds,  watching  the  pro- 
ceeding, and  compositionally  connected  with  it  by 
some  doge  or  senator  who,  looking  upward  toward 
the  divinized  commonwealth,  points  at  the  signers. 
The  old  masters  led  their  action  upward  and  on- 
ward from  the  real  into  the  ideal.  It  is  easy  to  find 
fault  with  their  moral  donnee  at  times,  when  they 
apotheosize  some  scoundrel  or  weakling,  some  late 
Medici  or  later  Louis  XV,  for  instance,  but  there  is 
nothing  wrong  in  their  decorative  intuition. 

I say  again  that  we  must  be  modern,  and  we  must 
be  American.  No  matter  how  saturated  we  are  with 
the  art  of  the  past,  and  the  more  the  better,  we 
must  fasten  our  souvenir  to  the  living  present;  no 
matter  how  much  we  love  the  pale  ideal  landscape  of 
the  primitive  painters,  or  the  noble,  spacious,  myth- 
ological fairy-land  of  Poussin,  the  glory  of  Claude’s 
sunsets,  we  must  use  our  memory  of  them  as  frame 


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199 


to  some  such  happenings  as  live  for  Americans  of 
to-day.  No  matter  how  enthusiastically  we  have 
studied  the  nude  body,  as  presented  in  the  broken 
fragments  from  Greek  pediments  or  the  marbles 
of  Michelangelo,  the  muscles  of  Raphael’s  tritons 
and  nymphs,  the  glowing  canvases  of  Venice,  the 
bronzes  of  Donatello,  we  must  remember  that  naked 
bodies  bow  themselves  to  dig  our  trenches  and  pud- 
dle our  steel,  work  among  us  to-day,  and  are  as  in- 
teresting now  under  the  American  sun  or  in  the  fire- 
light of  our  foundries  as  they  were  in  times  when 
early  Italian  masters  said:  “What  a divine  thing 
is  this  anatomy  /”  * 

It  is  then  of  the  utmost  importance  that  our 
artists  learn  to  treat  decoratively  the  marking  events 
of  our  history,  past  or  contemporaneous,  of  our 
Puritans  and  Dutch,  our  Revolutionary  heroes,  our 
Argonauts  of  ’49,  our  pioneers  and  colonizers  and 
soldiers  of  the  Civil  ^Var,  our  inventors  and  organ- 
izers, our  men  in  the  streets  and  in  the  fields  of 
to-day;  and  special  kinds  of  celebration  should  find 
place  in  particularly  suited  portions  of  our  public 
buildings. 

For  if  we  are  asked,  “In  including  realistic  cele- 
bration of  the  chronicle,  do  you  mean  to  leave  out 
what  is  called  ideal  art,  the  sort  of  art  which  Ra- 
phael practised  in  the  Segnatura,  Veronese  in  the  Col- 

* To  be  exact,  it  was  the  divinity  of  la  Perspettiva  that  Uccello  cele- 
brated, but  his  contemporaries  worshipped  anatomy  just  as  devoutly. 


200 


SIGNIFICANCE  IN 


legio?”  the  answer  is  that  that  kind  of  art,  if  we 
can  learn  to  practise  it — and  we  may,  since  other 
modern  men  have  done  so — is  the  crowning  glory 
of  decoration,  and  should  find  its  place  at  the  very 
core  and  centre  of  a public  building.  For  a certain 
form  of  distribution  is  indicated,  prescribed  almost, 
in  the  practice  of  the  past,  and  will  be  in  the  future. 
Figures  removed  from  those  which  we  meet  habit- 
ually, by  their  generalization  into  something  more 
beautiful,  more  robust,  more  simple  than  is  the 
daily  habit  of  humanity,  have  always  been  the  glory 
of  decorative  painting.  And  wherever  painting  was 
of  necessity  most  closely  bound  to  architecture,  there 
such  figures  found  their  logical  place. 

At  the  side  of  the  mathematics  and  the  music  of 
the  architect,  giving  figurative  expression  to  his  ge- 
ometry and  measurements,  his  knowledge  of  weight 
and  thrust  and  resistance,  stood  the  symbolic  fig- 
ures, half  human,  half  mechanical,  the  caryatides  of 
art,  the  space-fillers,  the  people  whose  business  it  is 
to  bow  themselves  under  weight,  to  fit  themselves 
into  angles,  to  recline  in  more  and  more  developed 
recumbency  as  the  pediment  slopes  and  narrows  to 
its  corner.  Such  figures,  also,  we  must  always  have 
in  art  in  their  predestined  place  as  the  so-called  ideal 
figures,  as  much  needed  as  the  real,  as  comple- 
mentary and  inevitable  as  sea  to  shore  or  heaven  to 
earth.  Michelangelo  and  Raphael,  Veronese  and 
Correggio  understood  this  well,  and  could  not  have 


MURAL  PAINTING 


201 


understood  any  art  which  was  content  to  get  along 
without  some  such  figures.  We  have  no  Michel- 
angelos and  Veroneses  to-day,  but  the  old  masters 
believed  in  and  supported  a principle  which  related 
to  every  other  time  as  well  as  to  their  own.  They 
believed  that  lesser  artists  owed  allegiance  to  the 
same  principle  and  owed  it  in  proportion  to  their 
artistic  strength,  and  we  owe  it  to-day  in  proportion 
to  ours  whether  we  are  weak  or  strong. 

Will  not  some  of  our  critics  be  just  enough  to 
admit  the  value  of  significance,  the  value  of  what 
all  the  world  held  a matter  of  faith  till  forty  years 
ago?  We  have  brilliantly  able  critics  who  know 
their  old  masters,  both  in  art  and  literature,  by  heart 
and  love  them,  yet  who  some  of  them  seem  to  have 
been  led  to  a different  point  of  view  by  a small 
modern  group  of  contemners  of  significance.  The 
latter  count  largely  upon  the  example  of  a few 
men  who  left  aside  what  we  commonly  call  subject. 
Velasquez  painted,  with  marvellous  insight,  little 
infantas,  dwarfs  and  idiots,  and  noble,  grave  gentle- 
men. When  he  painted  the  “Madonna  in  glory”  he 
failed,  to  be  sure,  in  embodying  any  high  significance. 
But  that  is  not  enough  to  condemn  high  significance. 
It  does  not  even  prove  that  Velasquez  would  have 
thought  lightly  of  truly  emotional  feeling  in  an  altar- 
piece  by  another  painter,  or  would  have  failed  to 
admit  that  certain  elements  of  elevated  inspiration 
were  outside  the  field  in  which  he  was  himself  un- 


202 


SIGNIFICANCE  IN 


rivalled.  We  are  told  that  Tintoretto  was  his  fa- 
vorite among  Italian  masters,  and  his  purchases  in 
Italy  would  seem  to  support  the  story.  Does  one 
need  to  say  more! 

Frans  Hals  does  not  count  pro  or  con,  because  he 
was  all  his  life  through  given  up  wholly  to  portrait- 
painting— surely  as  noble  a branch  of  art  as  exists, 
but  which  rules  out  what  we  ordinarily  call  subject. 

With  the  so-called  little  Dutchmen  the  case  is  some- 
what different.  They  are  the  great  exponents  of 
genre,  and  of  genre,  of  course,  subject  is,  literally  con- 
sidered, a characteristic  constituent.  But  with  them 
subject  is  taken  and  treated  so  differently  from  that 
of  which  I have  been  speaking,  as  really  to  count  as  a 
different  artistic  element.  It  is  in  some  not  elevated 
but  trivial.  It  is  incident  without  ideality  and  its 
motive  does  not  rise  from  mere  interest  into  real  in- 
spiration. Holland  asked  of  its  painters,  as  Taine  ob- 
serves, to  paint  its  portrait,  and  the  little  Dutchmen 
painted  its  lesser  features.  Consequently  the  field 
in  which  they  achieve  distinction  is  not  that  of  the 
subject,  where  they  are  fundamentally  negligible  how- 
ever superficially  devoted  to  it,  but  in  that  of  technic. 
Yet  so  happy  is  their  poise  within  their  own  limita- 
tions, often,  that  the  slightness  of  their  subject  inter- 
est is  itself  a reinforcement  of  their  technical  effective- 
ness and  not  a qualification  of  it.  So  you  see  that 
even  in  this  crucial  instance  of  an  art  essentially  with- 
out elevation,  subject  after  all  performs  a service  in- 


MURAL  PAINTING 


203 


stead  of  inflicting  an  injury.  Without  it  the  little 
Dutchmen  would  have  turned  even  oftener  than  they 
did  to  the  still-life  in  which  they  were  at  times  superb 
but  which  no  one  but  a fanatic  would  place  on  the 
same  plane  of  aesthetic  interest  as  their  genre. 

In  a picture  by  Mieris,  a man  pulls  a little  dog’s 
ear,  a woman  with  a gentle  gesture  restrains  him. 
Will  the  purist  maintain  that  the  picture  would  be 
better  if  the  gestures,  the  episodical  were  eliminated  ? 
Surely  it  would , if  some  higher  form  of  significance 
were  substituted.  But  in  any  case  it  would  be  the 
presence  of  technic,  not  the  absence  of  the  so-called 
story-telling  quality,  that  would  save  the  picture  or 
even  make  it  better  in  any  important  degree. 

Take  a great  man  who  does  not  belong  to  the  past 
but  to  the  present,  Jean  Francois  Millet!  Some  of 
the  contemners  of  subject  would  praise  Millet  as 
an  example  which  proves  their  point,  because  he  is 
content  to  paint  a girl  working  at  a churn  and  does 
not  become  anecdotic  over  her  performance.  But  I 
am  not  excusing  trivial  anecdote;  I am  upholding 
significance,  and  Millet  adored  high  significance  in 
Michelangelo  and  extolled  the  story-telling  power  of 
Poussin;  furthermore,  his  own  pictures  are  the  em- 
bodiment of  it  and  his  care  about  having  each  figure 
intent  on  its  own  work,  “tout  a son  ceuvre,”  and  thus 
technically  expressive  rather  than  superficially  strik- 
ing, is  due  to  this  feeling  of  his.  And  still  further,  if 
you  tell  me  that  the  post-impressionists  are  an 


204 


SIGNIFICANCE  IN 


example  of  what  the  pursuit  of  significance  may 
lead  to  when  they  make  a girl’s  arm  two  yards  long 
to  show  that  she  is  reaching  out  after  something 
which  she  yearns  for,  I need  only  say  that  mean- 
ing run  riot  is  like  any  other  good  thing  gone  to 
the  bad. 

Finally,  even  giving  up  to  those  who  decry  signifi- 
cance, Velasquez,  Hals,  Vermeer,  and  the  little 
Dutchmen  on  whom  alone  they  can  rely  (and  who,  I 
suspect,  judging  from  some  of  their  own  perform- 
ances, would  have  marvelled  over  the  imputation  as 
a quality  of  absence  of  subject),  is  there  any  reason 
why  Velasquez,  Hals,  and  Vermeer,  glorious  trinity 
though  they  be,  should  prove  all  others  wrong?  If 
there  are  men  to-day  who  like  Vermeer  can  enchant 
us  without  subject — and  I admit  that  there  are  some 
who  do — let  us  be  thankful  for  their  good  fortune  and 
ours,  but  let  us  hope  too  that  other  modern  artists 
struggling  to  express  themselves  may  not  fall  from 
grace  because  they  admire  and  believe  in  the  signifi- 
cance which  greater  and  happier  artists  achieved  in 
the  past. 

Nor  may  the  purist  declare  that  he  does  not  con- 
demn all  significance;  that  we  are  free  to  make  our 
Washington  dignified-looking,  our  Franklin  intelli- 
gent-looking, our  “ widow”  sad-looking,  and  so  on. 
For  the  fact  is,  the  enemy  of  significance  condemns 
the  first  steps  in  its  direction;  if  he  sees  a head 
emergent  along  those  lines  he  hits  it,  and  if  he  con- 


Copyright  by  the  Curtis  Publishing  Company 


Maxfield  Parrish:  Decoration  for  the  girls’  dining-room 
of  the  Curtis  Publishing  Company,  Philadelphia 

Example  of  decoration  used  as  a cultivating  and  enlivening  influence  in  a 
great  commercial  building 


MURAL  PAINTING 


205 


demns  preparation  he  condemns  the  whole.  As  well 
say  you  are  at  liberty  to  leap  the  street  but  not  to 
stride  the  gutter. 

This  idea  that  to  have  an  idea,  to  have  any 
subject,  is  to  spoil  the  technic  reminds  me  of  the 
patient  fishermen  of  Paris  and  of  what  an  ac- 
quaintance of  mine  once  said  about  them.  To-day 
in  Paris  men  stand  by  the  side  of  the  Seine  fishing, 
hour  after  hour,  day  after  day,  week  after  week,  in 
loving  devotion  to  their  sport.  Nobody  ever  saw 
them  catch  anything.  Once  an  American  remarked 
this  fact  to  my  acquaintance  cited  above.  The  lat- 
ter replied:  “ Catch  anything!  no,  surely  not — to 
catch  anything  would  interfere  with  the  fishing .” 

High  significance  has  been  a quality  inseparable 
in  the  past  from  any  national  art.  In  the  future  is 
its  achievement  to  be  eliminated  as  an  interference? 


VIII 


FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART 


VIII 


FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART 

The  importance  of  foundation  is  the  name  which 
I should  like  to  give  to  this  portion  of  my  argu- 
ment. Such  a name  would  suggest  the  caption  to 
a first  chapter  rather  than  to  one  so  far  along  in  the 
series,  and  indeed  it  is  a beginning  over  again  in  the 
sense  that  while  the  previous  chapters  have  been  ad- 
dressed to  those  especially  interested  in  mural  paint- 
ing, this  one  is  for  him  who  cares  for  every  kind  of 
art  production  whatever  it  may  be. 

In  all  of  the  art  schools  in  our  many  cities  one 
finds  vitality,  vigor,  curiosity.  Sometimes  these  are 
applied  with  more  force  to  the  work  in  hand,  some- 
times with  less;  but  in  the  main  it  is  about  the  same 
thing  whether  in  New  York,  Chicago,  or  elsewhere. 
One  sees  promise  of  excellence,  of  success,  every- 
where in  the  work,  and  again  one  sees  certain  other 
things  which  give  one  pause. 

When  I entered  a Paris  studio  more  than  forty 
years  ago  conditions  were  very  different  from  what 
they  are  to-day;  and  yet  as  I look  at  their  work  it 

209 


2io  FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART 


appears  to  me  that  the  young  people  now  are  hav- 
ing just  about  the  same  kind  of  trouble  that  I and 
my  comrades  had;  which  makes  me  think  that 
people  are  pretty  much  alike  up  and  down  the  world, 
and  even  at  long-separated  periods  of  time,  and 
causes  me  to  wonder  whether  noting  some  of  my 
own  experiences  and  those  of  others,  in  both  the 
immediate  and  remote  past,  might  in  any  way  be 
useful. 

“Ars  una,  species  mille — art  is  one,  its  species  are 
a thousand.”  So  it  is  proclaimed  by  the  voice  of 
the  ages.  From  the  art  student  we  should  hear 
something  different — that  is,  if  I am  to  judge  by 
myself  and  my  comrades  of  the  atelier  in  which  I 
began  to  study  in  Paris.  Could  our  voice  as  a school 
have  become  concentratedly  articulate  it  would  have 
said,  “Species  una,  ars  mea,  ars  sola — one  species, 
my  kind  of  art,  the  only  art.”  Perhaps  things  are 
not  like  that  now.  Conditions  have  changed.  I am 
speaking  of  forty  years  ago.  It  was  certainly  like 
that  then,  and  in  a way  it  was  right  that  it  should 
be.  “My  kind  of  art  the  only  art,”  is  a pretty 
good  battle-cry  for  a beginner.  If  he  have  not  con- 
fidence in  his  own  legs,  how  is  he  going  to  stand 
upon  them?  He  must  have  confidence  in  his  own 
master  and  his  own  school,  and  that  confidence,  if 
strong  enough  to  act  as  an  anchor,  would  be  more 
valuable  to  us  of  the  last  thirty  years  than  ever  be- 


Howard  Pyle:  “The  Genius  of  Art.”  Panel  in  the  drawing-room  of  the  artist’s  own  house 
Example  of  decoration  as  applied  to  private  residences 


FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART  21 1 


fore.  For  in  the  past  half  dozen  lustrums  has  come  a 
crowding  together  of  so-called  movements,  and  such 
a series  of  analyses  supposed  to  be  searching  that 
the  very  thought  of  them  is  disconcerting.  Just  be- 
yond the  horizon  of  our  school  life  it  all  lies  waiting 
to  burst  upon  us.  What  wonder  that  when  it  does 
many  of  us  are  overwhelmed,  that  the  faint-hearted 
perish,  and  even  the  courageous  feel  jaded  at  once 
in  the  presence  of  this  prodigious  Art , while  the 
aggressive  say  to  themselves:  “I  must  scream  at  the 
top  of  my  voice,  else  who  will  accord  me  any  per- 
sonality? What  can  I enunciate  that  is  loud  and 
clear  enough  to  catch  the  ear  of  even  ever  so  small 
a public ?” 

This  anarchistic  condition,  this  series  of  earth- 
quakes in  methods,  has  so  shaken  our  artistic  con- 
sciousness that  the  intelligent  student  may  be  for- 
given for  wondering  which  way  he  shall  go.  When 
I went  abroad  conditions  were  at  once  much  easier 
and  much  harder,  and  you  may  turn  the  proposition 
inside  out  and  repeat  it  to-day.  They  were  harder 
for  us  Americans  then  because  there  was  nothing 
to  study  in  America.  “Go  straight  to  Paris,”  said 
William  Morris  Hunt  to  me.  “You  will  only  have 
to  unlearn  what  you  learn  here.”  There  were  prac- 
tically no  art  schools  on  this  side  of  the  water  at  the 
time.  On  the  other  hand  the  conditions  were  easier 
than  now  because  once  you  reached  Paris  they  were 
simpler — simplicity  itself,  indeed,  in  comparison  with 


2i2  FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART 


what  confronts  the  student  who  goes  there  to-day. 
To  turn  the  proposition  inside  out,  as  I said,  con- 
ditions in  America  to-day  are  much  easier  for  the 
student,  because  his  education  has  been  prodig- 
iously facilitated  by  numberless  schools  and  much 
besides.  On  the  other  hand,  they  are  harder  because 
the  anarchistic  conditions  have  shaken  the  founda- 
tions of  art  education. 

In  Paris,  in  1867,  we  trotted  along  wearing  blind- 
ers, not  turning  our  eyes  from  side  to  side,  but  fix- 
ing them  on  the  master,  in  our  first  kindergarten  of 
art  training,  and  before  our  vision  was  strong  enough 
to  bear  looking  upon  more  than  one  thing  at  a time. 
Oddly  enough,  and  utterly  as  the  conditions  varied, 
I believe  that  in  our  first  months  we  suffered  from 
exactly  the  same  handicap  that  is  affecting  Amer- 
ican students  now.  The  difference,  however,  was 
and  is  that  our  master  found  us  out  and  sent  us  to 
the  right-about,  whereas  here  our  Pegasus  seems  to 
have  taken  the  bit  in  his  teeth  and  is  likely  to  give 
his  rider  some  bad  tumbles  before  he  can  become 
firmly  seated. 

It  happened  in  the  month  of  May,  1867,  forty- 
three  years  ago,  that  the  ideal  of  a little  group  of 
art  students  in  Paris  was  exactly  the  same  as  the 
ideal  of  nearly  all  the  art  students  in  America  to- 
day— namely,  vigor  of  handling.  What  we  wanted 
was  a vigorous-looking  surface  which  should  not 
appear  “labored,”  only  at  that  time  we  had  not 


FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART  213 


found  the  word  labored;  we  divided  everything  into 
smooth  painting  and  strong  painting.  Since  then 
we  have  invented  fifty  different  surfaces  and  given 
them  fifty  names. 

Long  ago,  when  I went  to  Paris,  which  was  still 
the  Paris  of  Du  Maurier’s  Trilby,  the  capital  of  the 
decadent  Second  Empire,  and  very  different  from 
the  city  of  to-day,  the  exhibitions  were  full  of  rather 
feeble  work.  The  glorious  group  of  Barbizon,  Millet, 
Rousseau,  and  the  rest  were  getting  ready  for  im- 
mortality, but  had  not  yet  come  into  their  own,  and 
the  official  painters  of  imperialism  were  not  stimulat- 
ing. At  the  Beaux  Arts,  Cabanel  and  Pils,  Hebert, 
Gerome,  and  others  were  teaching.  There  were  one 
or  two  ateliers  independants , as  they  were  called. 
Of  these  the  Atelier  Bonnat  was  by  far  the  most 
famous.  Leon  Bonnat,  young,  and  bringing  with 
him  the  traditions  of  Spanish  vigor  and  the  cultus 
of  Ribera  and  Velasquez,  had  opened  an  atelier 
d’eleves , as  they  named  it,  a studio  of  pupils,  to  which 
and  to  whom  he  gave  his  services  without  payment. 
To  it  I went  with  many  other  Americans.  Our 
master  was  the  sensation  of  the  moment;  he  had 
just  missed  the  grand  medal  of  honor  with  his  pic- 
ture of  “St.  Vincent  de  Paul/’  now  in  the  church 
of  St.  Nicholas  in  the  Fields — -fields  which  are  in 
the  heart  of  Paris — and  was  to  capture  it  at  the  fol- 
lowing Salon  with  his  canvas,  “The  Assumption  of 
the  Virgin.” 


214  FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART 


The  latter  was  a brilliant  performance,  and  had 
retained  its  color  finely  when  I saw  it  again  five 
years  or  so  ago  in  the  church  of  St.  Andrew  of  the 
charming  old  city  of  Bayonne.  For  Bonnat  came 
from  the  Basque  provinces  at  the  foot  of  the  Pyr- 
enees (and  he  has  given  a noble  collection  of  old 
masters  to  the  museum  of  his  native  city,  having 
been  an  enthusiastic  acquirer  of  them  for  many 
years).  Bonnat  did  not  practise  the  smooth  paint- 
ing then  in  vogue;  his  was  made  up  of  vigorous 
brush  strokes  dans  la  pate.  Great  is  paint  was  our 
one  thought  and  cry;  paint,  paint — lots  of  it.  Who 
so  contemptible  as  he  who  put  it  on  thinly;  who  so 
safely  launched  as  he  who  carried  a load  of  it! 

B.,  our  massier,  was  a worthy  leader;  he  was  a 
mortar-and-trowel  man,  and  we  followed  him,  gaily 
contemptuous  of  any  practice  done  outside  of  31 
Rue  de  Laval.  One  of  the  best  of  the  many  good 
qualities  of  the  Paris  art  student  in  those  days 
(I  trust  he  has  as  many  now)  was  his  intense  re- 
spect for  his  master.  At  that  time  Americans  were 
but  a tiny  minority;  the  French  students  gave  the 
tone  and  atmosphere  of  the  studios.  Netherlanders, 
Scandinavians,  Russians,  even  Spaniards,  were  still 
in  the  future  as  influences  upon  art.  M.  Bonnat 
entered  the  atelier  twice  a week.  Then  the  usual 
helpful  accompaniment  of  our  work,  the  imitation 
of  cornets  and  organs,  of  lions,  dogs,  and  pigs,  died 
away;  pipes  were  put  out.  M.’s  singing — his  voice 


FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART  215 

literally  made  the  great  window  rattle  in  its  setting, 
and  though  Eve  often  heard  the  expression  used,  I 
have  known  its  realization  only  in  his  case — M.’s 
voice,  I say,  ceased;  you  could  hear  a pin  drop. 
One  morning,  in  this  almost  painful  first  moment  of 
quiet  succeeding  noise,  Monsieur  Bonnat  said:  “Gen- 
tlemen, why  do  you  use  so  much  paint?  You  are 
only  tripping  yourselves  up.  / do  not  use  a great 
quantity  of  paint  for  its  own  sake,  but  because  my 
temperament  is  such  that  I can  get  my  effect  better 
in  that  way.” 

The  shells  that  dropped  upon  the  frozen  lake  at 
the  battle  of  Austerlitz,  submerging  whole  regiments, 
were  hardly  more  horribly  quenching  to  enthusiasm 
than  such  a statement  made  to  us  so  suddenly. 
For  a long  while  afterwards  the  atelier  was  troub- 
led; in  time  the  medicine  worked  with  some  of  the 
men  and  the  fit  survived.  B.  went  under;  he  never 
came  to  anything;  not , please  understand,  because 
forcible  painting  was  bad,  but  because  he  had  not 
the  stuff  of  a forcible  painter  in  him,  put  all  his 
strength  into  misdirected  effort,  and,  I verily  be- 
lieve, smothered  his  own  feeble  yet  existent  poten- 
tialities under  a “gruel  thick  and  slab”  of  pigment. 

Bonnat  followed  up  this  sudden  illumination.  He 
insisted  upon  our  making  hard,  close  studies  as  pre- 
paratory to  doing,  later,  things  as  vigorous  as  his 
if  we  pleased,  more  vigorous  than  his  if  we  could. 
He  watched  our  artistic  inclinations,  and  to  correct 


216  FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART 


certain  of  my  tendencies  he  sent  me  to  the  Imperial 
Library  to  make  pencil  copies  of  the  hard  line  en- 
gravings after  Raphael  done  by  Marc  Antonio  Rai- 
mondi in  the  sixteenth  century.  No  matter  how 
much  we  wanted  to  paint,  we  must  draw  for  a year 
first,  for  two  years  if  we  had  the  time,  and  if  the  shal- 
lowness of  our  purses  did  not  prevent  our  remaining 
in  even  inexpensive  Paris.  “My  Americans,”  said 
M.  Bonnat  to  me  long  afterwards,  “are  some  of  the 
very  best  stuff  that  I have,  but  they  do  not  stay 
long  enough,  and  that  often  spoils  all.”  We  obeyed 
our  master  implicitly,  or  at  any  rate  tried  to;  al- 
though our  atelier  was  one  of  the  most  unruly  in 
Paris,  as  we  realized  when  it  was  moved  from  31 
Rue  de  Laval  to  73  Boulevard  de  Clichy,  and  we 
found  that  we  had  been  just  upon  the  eve  of  expul- 
sion by  the  police  of  the  quarter,  so  full  was  their 
complaint  book  of  the  remonstrances  of  our  neigh- 
bors. The  arts  of  peace  were  apparently  not  always 
our  forte,  but  when  it  came  to  belief  in  the  master, 
the  patron,  who  could  coin  money  in  his  own  studio 
yet  preferred  to  give  two  full  forenoons  a week  to 
us,  it  was  another  matter.  At  all  events,  we  had  to 
draw  and  draw,  model  and  model,  just  as  carefully 
and  closely  as  we  might  and  for  a very  long  time. 
And  I believe  that  our  obedience  was  enormously 
valuable  to  us.  Imagine  a pupil  to-day  in  Paris 
who  thought  it  right  to  study  hard  cinque-cento  line 
engravings  at  the  library  when  instead  he  might  be 


Robert  Reid:  “The  Speech  of  James  Otis.”  Decoration  in  the  State  House,  Boston,  Mass. 

The  effect  of  light  in  the  original  is  not  rendered  adequately  in  the  photograph 


FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART  217 


freely  developing  in  a city  where  all  artistic  chains 
are  now  broken,  where  knowledge  must  give  way  to 
feeling,  where  we  may  make  a better  man  or  woman 
out  of  a box  of  square  blocks  than  by  imitating  their 
anatomy  more  closely. 

Now  I believe  that  the  student  to-day  is  just  as 
willing  to  work  hard  as  he  was  forty  years  ago.  He 
has  every  whit  as  much  enthusiasm,  but  I think 
that  in  the  quality  of  obedience  he  is  not  quite  so 
strong.  I will  not  call  it  obedience  to  his  master, 
but  obedience  to  something  which  is  way  down  at 
the  bottom  of  his  consciousness  and  which  he  is 
inclined  to  cover  up.  I fear  that  all  this  talk  about 
freedom  and  feeling  has  bred  an  inevitable  impa- 
tience of  restraint,  and  that  students  are  more  in- 
clined to  do  their  hard  work  in  their  own  way  and 
less  in  that  of  their  master.  But  art  is  a convention 
now  as  it  always  has  been  and  always  will  be;  the 
links  of  the  chain  hold  and  its  evolution  must  ac- 
complish itself  by  law;  the  artist  of  to-day  cannot 
break  it  all  off  and  make  a new  departure,  for  if 
it  is  easy  to  tear  up  a receipt  it  is  difficult  to  make 
a new  one. 

Hard  work  and  obedience  to  law  are  both  virtues, 
but  the  mere  exercise  of  a virtue  is  not  enough;  it 
must  be  virtue  qualified  by  intelligence.  There  are 
those  who  have  said  to-day  in  France:  “The  art  of 
all  the  past  has  existed  only  to  show  us  what  ought 
not  to  be  done.”  Between  these  men  who  talk  and 


21 8 FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART 


as  yet  have  accomplished  little,  and  the  men  who 
have  accomplished  miracles,  is  it  so  hard  to  choose? 
Let  us  hear  the  latter.  It  has  often  been  told  us 
that  Michelangelo  said,  “Genius  is  eternal  patience,” 
and  there  is  no  doubt  that  Michelangelo  was  an  ex- 
pert in  the  definition  of  genius  if  ever  a man  was. 
Thomas  Carlyle,  too,  defined  genius  as  a “tran- 
scending capacity  for  taking  trouble.” 

Students  may  remember  then,  when  they  wish  to 
work  vigorously  and  powerfully,  and  when  they 
disdain  what  they  call  labored  painting — may  re- 
member, I say,  that  two  of  the  most  rugged  and 
original  personalities  that  ever  existed,  the  one  in 
literature,  the  other  in  art,  have  averred  that  pa- 
tience— careful,  painstaking  patience — is  the  crown- 
ing virtue  which  shall  furnish  the  basis  to  the  bril- 
liant and  captivating  vigor  which  is  so  desirable  an 
achievement.  And  do  not  mistake  my  intention. 
I am  with  the  student.  I sympathize  in  his  wish. 
The  skilful  manipulation  of  pigment  is  a capacity  to 
be  struggled  for  and  to  be  proud  of  when  obtained; 
it  makes  the  surface  of  the  canvas  attract  at  once. 
But  if  the  canvas  is  to  be  made  vital-looking  and 
lastingly  solid  as  well  as  attractive,  behind  and  un- 
der the  lively  manipulation  of  pigment  there  must  be 
construction  and  knowledge,  the  fruit  of  hard  work. 

Idolatry  of  mere  dexterity  is  peculiarly  dangerous 
in  America  because  it  assails  us  along  the  lines  of 
the  least  resistance.  Dexterousness  comes  naturally 


FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART  219 


to  the  American,  and  in  its  favor  he  is  sometimes 
only  too  ready  to  suppress  hard  thinking,  which  is 
the  one  invaluable  kind  of  hard  work  and  discipline 
in  any  profession.  Technical  excellence  is  at  its 
very  best  only  a means  to  an  end,  and  art  stands 
for  something  much  finer,  greater,  and  deeper  than 
even  the  very  skilfullest  and  most  brilliant  handling 
of  one’s  tools. 

And  it  is  easy  to  be  specious  in  advocating  strength. 
“I  flog  the  canvas  with  swift  brush  strokes,”  is 
quoted  as  a saying  of  Van  Gogh,  but  in  saying  it  he 
merely  coined  a phrase  which  catches  the  ear.  “I 
base  my  swift  strokes  upon  a swift  apprehension  of 
the  true  sizes,  shapes,  and  colors  of  things  in  nature,” 
would  be  much  more  illuminating  and  convincing, 
if  not  so  picturesque  as  to  wording.  It  would  also 
be  much  more  difficult  of  accomplishment. 

Dashing  handling  is  so  good  to  look  at,  and  con- 
veys such  a sense  of  pleasure  in  the  work  of  the 
executant,  that  I do  not  expect  easily  to  convert 
students  to  the  renunciation  of  vigorous  brushing 
for  a period  long  enough  to  suffice  for  even  a few 
close  studies.  Nevertheless,  let  me  assure  them 
that  the  greatest  artists,  and  among  them  those 
who  have  attained  phenomenal  facility,  have  almost 
invariably  commenced  by  close,  patient,  and  even 
hard  studies  of  nature.  Velasquez  is  a notable  ex- 
ample of  this.  He  began  with  the  closest  surface 
handling,  then  progressed  to  his  final  marvellous 


220  FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART 


maestria.  Some  great  artists  like  Hals  have  gone 
straight  on  from  the  beginning,  always  loosening 
their  manner;  others  have  had  occasional  returns 
upon  themselves.  As  for  Rembrandt,  he  com- 
menced with  a smooth  and  exquisite  finish;  then 
later,  when  he  could  toss  about  his  pigment  as  he 
willed,  and  juggle  his  surface  into  a jewelled  glitter 
or  pass  through  it  into  broad,  air-filled  depths,  he 
would  suddenly  turn  back  to  his  first  close  manner. 
Look  at  his  Syndics  in  the  museum  of  Amsterdam — 
then  at  some  little  picture  by  him — an  interior  of 
Solomon’s  Temple,  for  instance,  with  its  crowded 
figures — and  see  how  well  an  artist  who  never  had 
a superior  realized  that  broad  painting  would  not 
suit  all  moods  or  all  needs.  Note,  too,  how  Rubens, 
from  whose  brush  flowed  rivers  of  oiliest  pigment, 
learned  to  make  studies  exquisite  in  finish  and  close- 
ness of  modelling. 

If  you  are  tired  of  my  wise  saws  about  the  past, 
if  you  want  a modern  instance?  here  it  is. 

For  reliance  upon  handling,  pure  and  simple,  I 
know  of  no  more  remarkable  example  than  that  of 
M.  Henri  Martin.  When  you  first  see  his  immense 
mural  paintings  for  Toulouse,  you  cannot  think  of 
anything  but  the  handling;  these  tens  of  thousands 
of  little  spots  of  every  kind  of  yellow,  pink,  green, 
and  blue  seem  like  sunlight  resolved  into  its  differ- 
ent chemical  properties,  and  fill  the  eye  and  mind. 
His  mowers  and  maidens  are  just  congeries  of  these 


FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART  221 


same  little  spots.  The  gowns  have  no  folds,  the 
faces  no  eyes,  noses,  mouths,  nothing  but  spots, 
spots,  spots. 

By  and  by,  after  you  have  fallen  back  to  the 
proper  distance  and  recovered  from  the  first  pleasant 
shock  of  this  charming  surface,  you  realize  that  it  is 
not  only  infused  with  a rare  sense  of  color,  but  that 
these  silhouettes  are  of  just  the  right  shape,  the 
lights  and  shadows  of  the  right  value,  and  that 
behind  it  all  is  knowledge — knowledge  earned  slowly, 
by  earnest,  thoughtful  work.  Best  of  all,  you  may 
have  the  proof  of  this  by  merely  going  a few  yards 
further  and  passing  through  a door;  and  it  is  for 
this  reason  that  a visit  to  the  Capitole,  as  it  is  called, 
of  the  old  city  of  Toulouse  in  southern  France,  is  of 
quite  peculiar  value  to  any  painter,  and  especially 
to  any  mural  worker.  Here  upon  the  gallery  walls 
you  have  the  gamut  of  Henri  Martin,  and  behold 
you  find  him  beginning  with  close  drawing,  in  which 
all  the  details,  although  kept  relatively  flat,  are  made 
out  and  modelled,  and  we  note  with  natural  sur- 
prise that  this  painter  of  intensely  rich  and  vibrant 
harmonies  has  begun  in  a cold,  even  a chalky  key. 
Next,  in  his  large  canvas,  “A  chacun  son  chimere ,”  a 
vibrant  warmth  is  beginning  to  make  itself  gently 
felt  like  the  sun  through  mist;  we  recall  his  decora- 
tions in  the  Hotel  de  Ville  of  Paris,  as  a link  between 
the  chimere  and  his  final  manner,  and  we  come  upon 
the  latter  in  the  sonorous  color  of  the  canvas  in 


222  FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART 


which  the  Toulousans  walk  beside  their  river  against 
an  after-sunset  sky.  Or  take  one  of  our  own  com- 
rades, Gari  Melchers.  In  his  exhibition  of  a few  years 
ago  in  New  York  there  was  a large  canvas  represent- 
ing Dutch  girls  in  church,  hard  and  close  in  every 
detail;  but  if  it  had  not  been  for  what  he  learned 
in  such  earnest,  early  study  as  that  picture  shows 
he  could  never  have  painted  the  rich,  vigorously 
brushed  solid  canvas  which  has  so  much  vitality  as 
it  hangs  upon  the  walls  of  the  Metropolitan  Mu- 
seum of  Art. 

As  I have  said  before  in  writing  of  Frans  Hals, 
Hals’s  brush  strokes  are  not  wonderful  because  they 
are  broad,  but  because  while  broad  they  are  of  ex- 
actly the  right  size,  shape,  and  tone,  and  are  laid  on 
in  exactly  the  right  place.  No  matter  how  hand- 
somely you  stir  up  your  surface,  if  you  do  not  know 
your  subsurface  well  somebody  will  see  through  the 
upper  layer  and  find  you  out.  If  underneath  you 
have  a closely  modelled  study,  you  may  strike  out 
details,  broaden  planes,  and  your  resultant  breadth 
will  look  felt  and  finished.  It  will  have  nothing 
flimsy  about  it,  but  will  have  quality  instead,  and 
seem  what  it  is — a solid  piece  of  work.  All  this  be- 
cause you  have  built  it  on  a foundation.  It  is  an 
honest  piece  of  work,  and  you  have  achieved  your 
desired  vigor  too,  for  in  loving  the  latter  you  are 
not  worshipping  a false  god.  He  is  a beneficent  and 
salutary  god,  but  in  sacrificing  to  him  you  will  be 


Copyright  by  the  trustees  of  the  Public  Library,  IQ03.  From  a photograph,  copyright  by  Curtis  &•  Cameron 

John  S.  Sargent:  “The  Dogma  of  the  Trinity.”  Decoration  in  the  Public  Library,  Boston,  Mass. 
Example  of  the  use  of  gold  and  high  and  low  relief-work  with  color 


FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART  223 


twice  blest  if  you  burn  incense  also  to  his  twin  deity, 
the  Goddess  of  Patience. 

If  one  studies  the  history  of  painting — I do  not 
mean  only  by  reading  about  it  in  books,  but  by  look- 
ing at  it  upon  the  walls  of  palaces  and  churches,  over 
the  altars  of  the  Gothic  period,  in  the  pilastered 
corniced  frames  of  the  fifteenth  century,  or  in  the 
heavily  sculptured  coffers  to  ceilings  of  the  late 
Renaissance — one  finds  that  the  school’s  evolution 
has  been  like  the  evolution  of  the  individual. 

First  the  gown  was  buttoned  tight  for  strenuous 
endeavor,  then  gradually  loosened,  and  under  the 
loosened,  vigorously  brushed  surface  of  the  canvas 
there  has  been  at  first  a close  preparation;  for  one 
cannot  begin  with  Rembrandt  in  his  last  stage,  or 
Hals  in  his,  or  Velasquez  in  his — one  must  begin  as 
they  did,  with  care  and  patience. 

As  I walk  through  the  art  schools  of  America  I 
am  astonished  at  the  vigor  of  the  work,  and  I be- 
come filled  with  enthusiasm  at  the  contact  with  so 
much  young  enthusiasm  in  others.  I say  to  myself, 
“What  vigor  everywhere,  what  liveliness,  what  good 
fresh  color,  how  the  understanding  of  color  and  to- 
nality, especially  of  distinction  of  tone,  are  growing  in 
the  American  school,  and  how  much  feeling  for  light 
there  is,”  then  I add,  after  the  apprehension  has 
come  gradually,  “and  what  similarity  in  all  the  class- 
work  of  pupils!”  And  I ask  myself,  “Is  it  entirely 
right  that  the  work  of  so  many  young  people  who 


224  FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART 


presumably  possess  such  different  temperaments, 
should  be  so  much  alike,  even  admitting  that  this  is 
but  an  early  step  in  their  development?”  Why 
should  it  be  so  similar?  It  is  not  because  they  have 
the  same  master,  for  they  have  not.  It  is  not  be- 
cause they  lack  willingness  to  look  hard,  according  to 
their  own  lights,  at  models  who  differ  very  much  yet 
seem  so  much  alike  in  the  painted  studies.  Finally,  I 
have  thought  I recognized  what  caused  the  similar- 
ity, and  realized  that  all  over  America  the  pupils, 
while  trying  for  light  and  color,  were  caring  supremely 
about  one  thing  above  every  other — namely,  that 
their  work  should  look  vigorous  and  not  labored, 
and  believed  that  this  vigor  could  be  indicated  only 
by  a very  loose  handling  of  the  paint.  “Not  la- 
bored ” — fatal  expression,  grievously  hurtful  in  its 
implication.  What  can  be  done  in  art  or  anywhere 
else  without  study — without  studious  thought?  And 
studious  thought  is  labor.  With  this  idea,  that  a 
surface  which  looks  labored  must  be  avoided,  the  stu- 
dents throughout  America  are  nearly  all  treating  it  in 
nearly  the  same  way.  But  it  is  in  his  treatment  of 
this  surface  that  the  painter  expresses  his  own  tem- 
perament; and  it  is  not  probable  that  the  tempera- 
ments of  all  students  are  as  much  alike  as  the  surface 
uniformity  that  I speak  of  would  imply.  It  is  quite 
sure  that  later  in  life  able  students  will  find  that 
they  differ  importantly,  and  that  they  will  succeed 
along  the  lines  not  of  their  similarity  but  of  their 


FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART  225 

differentiation.  I do  not  mean  that  they  should 
throw  the  reins  on  to  the  neck  of  their  inclination 
and  let  it  run  away  with  them.  They  should  look 
hard  at  nature;  but  the  harder  and  more  honestly 
they  look  the  more  impossible  they  will  find  it  to 
see  nature  just  as  their  fellow  student  does,  for  the 
very  simple  reason  that  they  are  they  and  he  is  he. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  how  it  all  happens,  and 
it  has  happened  to  us  all  in  our  time.  In  art,  as  in 
so  many  things,  there  is  always  a momentary  popu- 
lar tendency  among  practitioners,  which  sometimes 
is  hardly  more  than  an  exaggerated  fad,  but  oftener, 
as  in  the  present  case,  is  based  on  a very  real  desid- 
eratum— that  of  vigor.  The  students,  A,  B,  C,  D,  are 
working  hard  at  their  studies  from  the  same  model. 
A becomes  much  interested  in  the  painting  of  cer- 
tain muscles  in  the  back;  delicate  forms  they  are, 
and  before  he  knows  it  he  is  smoothing  them  and 
pushing  them  to  a relative  finish.  Suddenly  he  looks 
up  and  says  to  himself:  “How  much  more  vigorous 
B’s  muscles  look  in  the  back  which  he  is  painting! 
It  will  never  do  to  leave  mine  so  smooth.  They  are 
feeble  beside  his”;  and  at  once  a bigger  brush  and 
some  loaded  strokes  make  his  study  look  like  B’s. 
C and  D are  also  thinking  first  of  all  about  strength, 
therefore  the  four  studies  look  alike. 

Mr.  Kenyon  Cox  said,  in  his  admirable  lectures, 
that  the  desire  for  vigorous  strokes  has  so  increased 
the  size  of  brushes  that  with  many  of  those  cur- 


226  FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART 


rently  used  it  is  no  longer  possible  to  execute  any 
form  in  nature  which  is  less  than  one  inch  wide. 
Now  nature  is  full  of  forms,  some  of  them  as  beauti- 
ful as  any  in  the  world,  which  are  a good  deal  less 
than  an  inch  wide,  and  you  must  learn  to  execute 
them.  You  do  not  go  to  school  for  the  achieve- 
ment of  vigor  alone  in  painting,  but  for  the  attain- 
ment of  all-round  knowledge  which  you  will  trans- 
late into  vigor  or  delicacy,  accordingly  as  one  or 
the  other  best  serves  your  purpose. 

Varying  treatments  will  be  useful  at  different 
times,  for  not  only  do  artists’  temperaments  differ, 
but  moods  as  well;  one  thing  will  be  done  better 
to-day,  another  to-morrow.  Later  in  life  the  artist 
will  deliberately  throw  away  for  the  moment  some 
acquired  knowledge,  set  it  aside  for  the  time  and 
work  along  the  best  lines;  that  is  to  say,  the  most 
sympathetic.  But  all-round  knowledge,  ballast- 
knowledge,  must  be  at  hand  to  start  with.  After- 
ward some  of  it  may  be  thrown  overboard  to  lighten 
ship  or  balloon,  to  reach  a higher  wave  crest,  or 
mount  into  a rarer  ether. 

The  more  you  know  processes,  and  the  better  you 
understand  them,  the  more  you  will  profit;  but  your 
highest  profit  will  come  from  the  clear  apprehension 
that  they  are  one  and  all  means,  not  ends.  For  a 
process  may  become  too  costly  for  what  it  accom- 
plishes. You  remember  the  prince  in  the  fairy 
story.  He  had  learned  to  use  his  sword  so  adroitly 


FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART  227 


and  swiftly,  that  when  a shower  came  he  could 
flourish  his  blade  so  rapidly  about  his  head  as  to 
parry  every  drop  and  remain  quite  dry.  It  was  cer- 
tainly wonderful  enough  for  fairy  tale,  but  an  um- 
brella would  have  entailed  less  labor,  and  such  dex- 
terity of  fence  should  have  served  a greater  purpose. 

A famous  artist  in  speaking  of  the  changes  that 
come  with  the  sequence  of  years,  used  to  say:  “In 
eighteen  hundred  and  so  and  so,  all  the  pictures  in 
the  Paris  Salon  looked  as  if  they  were  painted  with 
ink;  in  eighteen  hundred  and  something  else,  all  the 
pictures  in  the  Salon  looked  as  if  they  were  painted  in 
chalk,  but  they  were  just  the  same  pictures.” 

He  meant  that  those  who  are  so  impressible  as 
to  follow  each  fashion  of  the  moment,  be  it  for  tonal- 
ity or  vigor  or  feeling,  merely  swell  that  regular  and 
unending  processional  which  keeps  alive  the  com- 
monplace for  its  little  day,  then  melts  into  oblivion, 
leaving  no  mark. 

In  all  that  I have  to  say  to  students  there  is  noth- 
ing half  so  close  to  my  heart  as  the  desire  to  impress 
the  absolute  necessity  for  hard,  careful,  close  drawing 
and  modelling  from  nature,  before  they  permit  them- 
selves to  loosen  their  surface  and  handle  vigorously. 
What  shall  I say  to  impress  the  student  with  what 
I am  sure  are  facts,  and  will  have  to  be  met  later 
if  he  tries  to  avoid  them  at  first?  The  later  he  meets 
them  the  worse  they  will  be;  they  are  like  mumps 
and  measles — the  young  go  through  them  easily, 


228  FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART 


but  those  who  are  grown  older  and  more  inelastic  are 
roughly  treated  by  them. 

When  an  invading  army  enters  an  enemy’s  coun- 
try it  takes  good  care  not  to  leave  behind  it,  between 
itself  and  its  own  frontier,  any  fortified  cities  held 
by  the  enemy,  because  such  fortresses  would  become 
sources  of  danger  in  case  of  doubt  or  defeat.  There- 
fore the  invading  army  makes  itself  master  of  such 
places  before  proceeding  farther.  Now  if  you  pro- 
duce brilliantly  handled  and  broadly  constructed 
work,  without  having  first  learned  to  construct  very 
closely  and  correctly,  you  will  be  in  precisely  the 
condition  of  a careless  invading  force  with  dangerous 
enemies  behind  it. 

Or  let  us  take  another  and  more  artistic  simile. 
Venice,  one  of  the  greatest  art  centres  of  the  past,  is, 
as  you  know,  built  upon  wooden  piles  driven  into 
the  mud  of  the  lagoons  at  the  head  of  the  Adriatic. 
A thousand  years  ago  its  houses  were  rough  and 
rude;  gradually  they  grew  into  beauty,  and  as  time 
went  on,  palaces  took  their  place,  and  always  newer 
and  lovelier  palaces,  till  the  very  flower  of  Gothic 
and  Renaissance  art  bloomed  above  the  mud  of 
the  morass.  It  was  all  supported  upon  piles  driven 
with  a cunning  and  skill  which  are  interesting  when 
one  reads  of  them.  It  wasn’t  pleasant  down  there 
in  the  black  mud;  it  was  even  less  pleasant  than  it 
is  in  the  schoolroom  where  the  student  groans  over 
the  difficulties  of  close  drawing  and  modelling,  but 


Herman  T.  Schladermundt:  Decoration  in  the  art  museum  in  the  residence  of 
Mr.  Thomas  F.  Ryan 


FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART  229 


the  pile-driving  had  to  be  done,  and  done  right,  in 
order  that  the  superstructure  should  be  substantial 
and  lasting.  Festina  lente  (Make  haste  slowly),  said 
the  old  Romans;  they  did  make  haste  slowly,  and 
established  so  firm  a polity  that  they  enlightened 
the  world  for  two  thousand  years. 

Perhaps  some  students  will  say  to  me:  “Why  this 
reiterated  sententiousness?  Why  do  you  persist  in 
telling  us  that  water  is  wet  and  fire  will  burn?  We 
know  all  about  spiders  and  patience,  and  squirrels 
and  nuts  and  industry.  Tell  us  something  newer 
and  more  exciting.”  Let  me  say  that  in  a time  of 
almost  universal  sensationalism  a little  sententious- 
ness has  a positive  value.  A phenomenal  condition 
has  obtained  in  Paris,  where  absolute  freedom  in  the 
arts  is  preached,  and  feeling  is  extolled,  not  only  as 
the  highest,  but  as  the  only  desideratum.  This  new 
movement  will  die  out  in  time,  from  inanition,  emp- 
tiness, lack  of  nourishment  from  within  or  without. 
But  meantime  this  preachment  of  license  is  doing 
harm.  Young  people  think:  “Why  wear  chains  of 
endeavor  if  one  may  do  better  without  them?”  Let 
me  quote  to  you  two  statements,  which  I have  heard 
made  with  most  evident  sincerity. 

First  this  one — some  people  who  are  interested  in 
establishing  a great  art  school,  who  have  given  their 
fortunes  to  it,  and  who  have  had  experience  of  many 
years,  said  the  other  day:  “The  result  of  what  we 
have  learned  by  our  experience  is  this:  ‘We  must 


23o  FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART 


not  have  anything  to  do  with  paying  pupils.  Any 
young  people  who  pay  for  their  education  will  not 
do  hard,  close  drawing.  They  insist  that  as  a re- 
turn for  what  they  pay  they  must  be  allowed  to 
divert  themselves  with  pigment,  and  make  at  once 
dashing-looking  studies  in  color.  Therefore,  if  we 
are  to  make  artists  we  want  only  non-paying  pupils 
of  a free  school,  then  we  can  insist  upon  their  study- 
ing seriously.’  ” 

Now  let  us  listen  to  the  other  statement.  It  was 
made  by  the  teachers  and  governing  body  of  a great 
free  art  school.  They  said:  “It  is  a pity  that  in 
order  to  be  exempt  from  taxation  we  have  to  main- 
tain a free  school;  perhaps  if  our  young  people  had 
to  pay  something  they  might  realize  the  value  of 
education  and  be  willing  to  do  some  hard  drawing 
and  studying.  As  it  is,  they  say  to  themselves: 
‘We  pay  nothing.  This  is  a free  school.  We  wish 
to  be  free  to  study  in  our  way,  to  be  broad  and 
easy,  and  up-to-date  in  our  methods.’” 

Now  I have  simply  quoted  to  you  what  I have 
heard  said  recently.  What  do  you  think  of  these 
opinions,  of  the  temper  of  pupils?  If  they  are  cor- 
rect, why  then  we  are  between  the  devil  and  the 
deep  sea! 

I know  that  the  young  art  students  of  America 
declare  with  a good  conscience,  and  quite  truly,  that 
they  are  enthusiastically  willing  to  work  hard;  but 
I say  that  they  must  be  willing  not  only  to  labor 


FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART  231 


over  what  they  like  to  study,  but  also  over  what 
they  do  not  like  to  study,  else  they’ll  never  attain 
to  anything  but  a one-sided  development.  And 
mind,  that  in  saying  all  this  I personally  sympathize 
heartily  with  the  desire  for  vigorous  brushing  in  a 
picture.  I believe  in  it.  But  vigorous  brushing 
must  be  backed  up  by  other  and  preparatory  quali- 
ties. 

Though  the  student  may  succeed  in  getting  bril- 
liant surfaces  without  a substructure  of  knowledge, 
he  will  find  the  earth  shaking  under  his  feet,  weak 
spots  will  begin  to  show  through,  and  he  will  lose 
his  time  in  trying  to  repair  what  ought  to  have 
been  right  in  the  beginning.  If,  however,  he  begins 
with  close  work  based  on  knowledge,  he  may  make 
all  sorts  of  mistakes  as  he  goes  on,  may  flounder 
about,  yet  in  time  he  will  get  the  effect  he  wants, 
because  the  work  was  built  right  in  the  beginning, 
and  he  has  under  foot  a solid  field  for  experiment- 
ing until  he  attains  the  right  solution  of  his  prob- 
lem. I,  at  least,  have  verified  all  this  by  bitter 
experience,  by  my  blunders,  by  light-heartedly  jump- 
ing over  something  and  leaving  it  behind  instead  of 
filling  it  up,  leaving  it  because  I was  in  a hurry  to 
reach  my  goal  and  get  my  effect. 

Broad  painting,  to  be  sure,  as  painting  impresses 
more  forcibly  and  immediately  than  close  painting 
ever  can.  As  a man  learns  more  and  more,  he  may, 
with  great  advantage  to  his  canvases,  suppress  de- 


232  FUNDAMENTAL  EDUCATION  IN  ART 


tail  in  favor  of  breadth.  But  close  study  he  must 
have  at  first  as  the  basis  for  knowledge,  because — 
and  now  listen  to  this,  and  remember  it  always — 
in  his  rendering  of  nature  no  one  can  intelligently 
leave  out  of  an  art  work  what  he  has  not  already 
learned  to  intelligently  put  into  it.  This  statement  is 
so  sound  that  it  cannot  be  controverted,  and  with  it 
this  chapter  may  close. 


IX 


THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CULTURE 


IX 


THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CULTURE 

I 

In  the  foregoing  chapters  pleas  have  been  made 
for  recognition  of  the  importance  of  decoration,  of 
the  necessity  for  harmony  among  those  who  create 
that  decoration,  and  of  the  value  of  experience. 
From  such  experience  and  collaboration  will  inevita- 
bly result  good  art,  but  it  will  not  all  be  art  of  one 
kind,  for  there  are  many  paths  up  Parnassus,  and  they 
all  lead  to  the  top.  These  last  chapters  will  be  given 
to  a plea  for  toleration  and  culture,  that  is  to  say 
for  a withholding  of  censure  in  favor  of  examination. 

The  latter  will  widen  into  culture  which  will  ensure 
catholicity  as  to  methods,  and  will  help  us  to  develop, 
each  in  our  own  way,  while  it  will  diminish  the  likeli- 
hood of  his  being  at  the  mercy  of  almost  purely  de- 
structive criticism  from  those  who  should  be  sym- 
pathetic because  they,  too,  are  painters,  but  who 
are  contemptuous  because  fundamentally  ignorant 
of  any  method  save  their  own. 

It  is  true  that  the  actively  contemptuous  make 
up  a relatively  small  body,  but  they  are  surrounded 
by  a much  larger  body  of  those  who  are  indifferent 

235 


236  THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CULTURE 


to  anything  save  their  own  way  of  looking  at  art; 
from  them  the  actively  contemptuous  make  converts, 
while  upon  the  public  they  exercise  an  influence  in- 
variably unfortunate.  The  men  of  group  A say  of 
groups  B and  C,  “ Their  work  is  not  worth  consid- 
ering’'; groups  B and  C each  repeat  the  same  re- 
garding the  other  two  groups.  The  public  listens, 
then  argues:  “If  either  one  of  these  groups  is  right 
the  two  others  are  not  worth  considering.  Now 
as  we  cannot  know  which  of  the  three  is  right,  our 
policy  is  clear;  it  is  to  not  consider  any  of  them,  but 
to  collect  the  works  of  the  past  instead  of  theirs.” 

Here  is  what  happened  in  the  late  seventies. 
The  Paris-Munich  men  came  home  and  said:  “The 
Hudson  River  School  is  weak,  negligible.”  The 
Hudson  River  School  said:  “These  parvenus  are 
un-American;  they  are  imperfect  imitators  of  Pa- 
risians; they  are  negligible.”  The  public  said:  “It 
appears,  according  to  their  own  testimony,  that  they 
are  all  negligible” — and  American  artists  were  neg- 
lected for  twenty  years  after!  During  the  last 
decade  a robust  sentiment  has  been  growing  up  in 
favor  of  American  art.  How  shall  it  be  strength- 
ened? What  is  the  remedy  for  that  which  occurred 
in  1880?  Is  it  enthusiastic  and  indiscriminate  lau- 
dation of  each  other’s  work  within  the  fraternity? 
Assuredly  not;  the  remedy  is  culture,  study  of  each 
other’s  work  and  intelligent  comprehension  of  each 
other’s  aims  and  methods.  From  comprehension 


Andrew  T.  Schwartz:  “Justice” 


THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CULTURE  237 


will  come  first  toleration,  then  intelligent  admira- 
tion; and  this  admiration,  wisely  expressed,  will  help 
to  establish  what  is  worthy,  since  it  is  not  sporadic 
notice  of  each  other  that  really  counts,  but  gradual 
infiltration  of  ideas. 

May  I,  in  my  talk  about  culture,  go  back  for  a 
moment  to  my  first  experience  of  evolution  of  the 
art  idea  in  my  early  training,  and  return  to  No.  3 1 
Rue  de  Laval,  the  Atelier  Bonnat?  In  those  days 
I began  just  as  a normal  and  reasonable  art  student 
should.  I worried  myself  sick  over  what  the  mas- 
ter said  or  didn’t  say,  about  my  work;  because  I 
couldn’t  get  my  figure  plumb  or  my  proportions 
right,  because  my  color  dried  in,  or  because  it 
would  not  dry  fast  enough.  My  little  two-foot 
study  was  the  most  important  thing  in  the  world. 
I know  from  my  own  experience  exactly  how  all  that 
is — how  natural,  and  in  a way  how  right. 

Blessed  be  concentration!  Without  it  the  beginner 
cannot  get  along  at  all;  and  for  a while  at  least  the 
more  he  thinks  about  his  own  efforts  and  the  less 
about  other  people’s  the  better.  But  when  he  does 
begin  to  think  about  other  people’s  work  his  mind 
will  grow  faster,  his  horizon  widen  more  rapidly,  if 
he  will  try  not  to  condemn  any  methods  merely  be- 
cause they  are  not  his. 

If  he  does  not  sometimes  look  about  him  and 
realize  that  other  aspirations  than  his  exist,  he  is  in 
danger — from  too  long  and  close  concentration — of 


238  THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CULTURE 


contracting  a mental  squint.  In  the  very  beginning 
he  is  too  busy  to  be  uncharitable;  too  close  to  his 
own  sheet  of  drawing-paper  to  see  beyond  it;  his 
world  is  bounded  by  the  school.  But  just  a little 
later  he  is  emancipated;  and  it  was  in  the  atelier, 
and  from  the  more  advanced  men,  who  already  had 
little  studios  of  their  own  where  they  worked  for 
one-half  of  the  day,  that  I first  learned  what  a paltry 
affair  was  anybody  else’s  art  than  ours  as  exem- 
plified by  that  of  our  master.  However,  when  I 
heard  the  master  himself  talk,  a new  point  of  view 
was  afforded,  and  a new  vista  opened.  If  A and  B 
and  C,  the  camarades , exalted  our  patron  Bonnat 
and  scoffed  at  D,  E,  and  F,  Bonnat  himself  admired 
and  studied  the  latter  trio. 

This  fact  reached  me  only  gradually,  but  at  last 
I commenced  to  recognize  it  as  phenomenal.  In 
the  intervals  of  work  my  French  fellow  students 
became  mitrailleuses  of  criticism.  I gathered  from 
them  that  so  and  so,  famous  men,  were  artists  of  the 
neuvieme  categories  the  ninth  class,  not  second  or 
third,  mind  you.  When  I first  arrived  in  Paris  I 
had  letters  to  Gerome  and  ambitions  toward  be- 
coming his  pupil  at  the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts.  He 
accepted  me  as  candidate,  but  said:  “It  will  be  three 
months  before  you  can  enter,  you  must  not  lose  time 
— go  to  Bonnat,  there  is  no  better  man  in  France.” 
Now,,  if  there  were  in  the  land  two  artists  who  dif- 
fered utterly  in  methods  they  were  Gerome  and 


THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CULTURE  239 


Bonnat.  It  was  astonishing  to  me  that  the  former 
should  recommend  the  latter.  But  I went  to  him, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  three  months  did  not  wish  to 
leave  him.  Indeed,  when  I looked  at  his  powerful 
canvases  and  listened  to  the  enthusiasm  of  his  pupils 
I could  even  understand  that  Gerome  realized  his 
own  feebleness  as  painter  and  Bonnat’s  superiority 
sufficiently  to  send  the  pupil  to  him;  it  seemed  gen- 
erous but  natural.  A year  or  so  later  I went  to 
M.  Bonnat’s  studio  for  special  advice  of  some  kind. 
High  on  a ladder  he  was  painting  the  sky  in  his 
“Assumption  of  the  Virgin.”  With  a big  brush 
loaded  with  orange-pink  color  he  was  beating  the 
bright,  strong  blue  of  the  sky  with  regular  drum- 
like strokes,  “tacking,”  but  it  seemed  almost  like 
hammering,  and  compelled  my  admiration  by  its 
vigor.  I asked  my  questions,  and  in  relation  to  one 
of  them  he  said:  “Better  go  to  Gerome  with  that, 
il  est  bien  bon  gar^on,  and  there  is  no  better  man  in 
France  to  tell  you.” 

Here  was  a surprise;  these  were  the  selfsame 
words  that  Gerome  had  used  in  relation  to  Bonnat. 
To  be  sure,  they  referred  to  a different  quality,  but 
this  vigorous  handler  of  pigment  was  sending  me  to 
the  smooth  painter  Gerome!  It  was  the  apparent 
inconsistency  that  astonished  me.  I began  to  real- 
ize that  here  at  least  was  affirmation  that  artists 
could  in  wholly  differing  ways  be  peers;  it  was  a 
new  impression  and  an  illuminating  one.  Later  I 


24o  THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CULTURE 


found  Puvis  de  Chavannes  painting  a decoration 
inscribed  “To  my  friend  Bonnat”  upon  the  walls  of 
the  patron’s  private  hotel;  Bonnat,  in  turn,  doing 
Puvis’s  portrait,  and  either  artist  praising  the  other 
to  the  skies.  Young  as  I was,  my  experience  had 
already  bred  questioning  in  me  as  to  how  far  their 
respective  pupils  would  follow  this  mutual  admira- 
tion of  two  painters  who  differed  radically  in  nearly 
all  their  processes. 

I began  to  see  in  the  example  of  these  men, 
Gerome,  Bonnat,  Puvis,  far  older  than  I,  far  wiser 
and  each  of  them  archfamous,  that  an  artist  might 
unswervingly  follow  one  road  and  yet  not  doubt  that 
his  friend  upon  another  was  just  as  earnest  a pil- 
grim and  just  as  directly  headed  for  the  goal.  I 
commenced  to  realize  that  these  roads  would  meet 
somewhere  and  began  to  conceive  dimly  of  an  at- 
tainable Ars  Una.  To  have  a solid  perception  of 
the  unity  of  art  is  to  own  an  invaluable  property, 
and  its  possessor  is  in  a sense  grown  up  at  once,  an 
adult  even  though  he  still  be  struggling  with  the 
problems  of  school-life.  But  in  its  highest  form 
this  perception  is  the  rarest  of  possessions;  it  be- 
longs in  its  utmost  development  only  to  the  Titians 
and  Velasquezes,  the  Rembrandts  and  Millets  of 
this  world,  and  is  given  to  other  men  but  in  the 
descending  scale  of  the  proportion  of  their  greatness. 
To  be  sure,  almost  any  artist  who  has  reached  his 
third  decade  will  admit  that  methods  differing  from 


THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CULTURE  241 


his  own  may  be  good,  but  many  of  them  admit  it  only 
perfunctorily,  and  do  not  act  as  if  they  believed  it. 

Even  perfunctory  admission  is  something,  much 
indeed,  for  it  is  contempt  of  others  that  is  dangerous. 
Contempt  is  a weed  that  grows  fast  and  rank  and 
high,  and  soon  chokes  everything  else  in  the  garden. 
I have  said  that  with  the  beginner  scepticism  re- 
garding any  other  art-practice  than  his  own  is  in 
some  degree  natural  and  not  unhealthy;  the  child 
must  have  confidence  in  his  own  feet  before  he  can 
walk  freely,  but  there  soon  comes  a time  when  it  is 
seasonable  to  weed  one’s  garden,  and  to  admit  that 
the  feet  of  others  may  tread  paths  divergent  from 
ours,  yet  leading  all  the  same  to  artistic  salvation. 
The  danger  is  that  later,  if  the  young  man  has  not 
begun  early  to  cast  intelligent  eyes  upon  other  meth- 
ods than  his  own,  he  will  commence  to  harden  and 
will  narrow  until,  in  middle  age,  it  will  be  impossible 
for  him  to  turn  outward  those  many  appreciative 
facets  for  that  reflection  of  nature  as  seen  through 
the  eyes  of  others,  which  has  been  essential  to  the 
very  greatest  artists.  For  the  very  greatest  artists 
have  been  the  most  generously  and  widely  cultured. 
I do  not  mean  the  men  who  have  won  the  most  de- 
grees or  medals,  but  who  have  recognized  what  is 
largest  and  most  general  in  life  and  art  and  nature, 
the  Dantes,  the  Michelangelos,  the  Miltons,  the 
Leonardos,  and  the  Millets.  The  artist  of  the  Re- 
naissance stood  the  centre  of  an  unassailable  trio, 


242  THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CULTURE 

his  arms  linked  fast  in  those  of  science  and  literature 
on  either  side.  Raphael,  at  the  time  of  his  death, 
was  not  only  a mural  painter — and  the  mural 
painter  must  have  one  foot  at  least  planted  solidly 
upon  science — he  was  also  planning  nothing  less 
than  a huge  restoration  of  the  city  of  ancient  Rome. 
Architecture  then  as  now  was  as  much  a science  as 
an  art,  and  the  Renaissance  architects  thoroughly 
understood  painting  and  sculpture  in  relation  to 
their  own  work.  Michelangelo,  as  we  know,  was 
“the  man  with  four  souls,”  Leonardo  was  so  all- 
embracing  that  we  might  account  him  a kind  of 
spoiled  child  of  Athene.  Rembrandt,  a bad  business 
man,  ruined  himself  as  a collector.  Rubens,  more 
balanced,  absolutely  balanced  indeed,  profited  by 
his  own  collections;  was  close  to  the  learned,  and 
distinguished  himself  as  ambassador.  Velasquez 
was  majordomo  of  Philip  IV.,  and  master  of  such 
necessary  pageants  as  royal  marriages.  And  not 
only  these  giants  but  hundreds  of  other  artists  were 
prodigiously  cultured.  As  you  come  down  the  cen- 
turies you  still  find  that  knowledge  of,  and  respect 
for,  the  methods  of  others  mark  the  most  famous 
painters — Reynolds  with  his  cultus  of  the  Italians, 
Lawrence  with  his  collection  of  drawings,  Millet 
with  his  understanding  of  Michelangelo  and  Poussin. 

It  is  true  that  the  artists  of  the  Renaissance  based 
all  culture  upon  either  the  study  of  the  ancients  or 


Taber  Sears:  Frieze  of  the  Apostles,  Church  of  the  Epiphany, 
Pittsburg,  Pa. 


THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CULTURE  243 


else  of  a few  immediate  forerunners,  who  had  founded 
their  own  practice,  in  turn,  on  what  they  believed  to 
have  been  that  of  the  Romans.  With  Vasari,  the 
Renaissance  public  called  the  gothic  masters  of  the 
North  barbarous,  and  their  prejudice  against  the 
latter  lasted  for  three  centuries  and  blinded  people 
down  past  the  days  of  Goethe,  who  shut  his  eyes 
tight  (though  they  were  beauty-loving  eyes  if 
ever  such  existed)  to  the  frescoes  of  Assisi  because 
Minerva  beckoned  to  him  more  compellingly  from 
further  up  the  hill.  But  both  Vasari  and  Goethe 
believed  in  culture  passionately,  and  their  neglect  of 
the  Gothic  was  caused,  at  least  on  Vasari’s  part,  far 
more  by  ignorance  than  by  contempt.  For  that 
matter,  it  was  the  contempt  of  indifference  rather 
than  of  active  dislike,  which  in  past  ages  fell  upon 
superseded  art.  Lethe  arose  and  covered  with  its 
waves  the  Italian  primitives,  the  Giottos  and  Bot- 
ticellis and  all  the  other  early  artists;  and  to  our 
great  advantage,  since  those  waters  of  oblivion  pre- 
served the  tondi  and  panels  and  cassone  fronts  from 
restoration,  and  only  a few  masters,  Titian,  Cor- 
reggio, Raphael,  and  one  or  two  more,  were  tall 
enough  in  reputation  to  remain  emergent,  and  hence 
often  to  fare  hardly  at  the  hands  of  the  over-painters. 
As  for  the  gothic  masters  of  mediaeval  centuries,  they 
almost  lost  track  of  their  parentage  in  the  turmoil 
of  barbarian  invasion.  A little  light  flickered  in 
the  monasteries,  and  even  in  the  darkest  years  there 


244  THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CULTURE 


never  was  a time  when  Aristotle  was  not  a name  to 
conjure  with,  or  when  there  were  not  some  men, 
tonsured  or  untonsured,  who  had  heard  of  Horace 
and  Cicero.  But  such  names  were  only  a faint  echo 
from  an  otherwise  forgotten  past  to  nearly  all  who 
practised  the  graphic  arts. 

The  influence  of  Roman  work  passed  onward  to 
the  Como  masons,  to  Burgundian  and  Provencal 
monks;  now  and  then  a beam  of  light  from  By- 
zantium or  Syria  glanced  down  the  steel  line  of  the 
Crusaders  as  far  as  some  church  of  Venice  or  Peri- 
gueux,  but  by  the  time  of  the  cathedral-builders  of 
the  Ile-de-France,  men  worked  in  a changed  world; 
they  thought  of  the  Romanesque  only  as  a starting- 
point,  of  the  Roman  not  at  all;  while  five  hundred 
years  later  the  men  of  the  bag-wig  period,  indifferent 
even  to  the  early  Renaissance,  turned  their  backs 
squarely  on  the  Middle  Ages  and  their  eyes  once 
more  toward  the  orders  of  Vitruvius. 

II 

We  see,  then,  that  the  artists  of  the  past  were  often 
innocently  ignorant  of  their  own  parentage,  and  did 
not  know  whence  they  derived,  even  while  trading 
successfully  upon  some  paternal  trait.  But  our  age 
is  eclectic  beyond  any  other,  and  when  we  are  igno- 
rant we  are  so  by  deliberate  neglect.  With  us,  pho- 
tography and  facilitated  transportation  have  brought 


THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CULTURE  245 


our  far-away  artist-cousins  into  our  family  of  to- 
day. Any  one  of  us  may  for  a dime  buy  a reproduc- 
tion of  a work  of  art  better  and  more  correct  in  its 
way  than  could  be  obtained  for  all  his  money  by  the 
richest  art-loving  nobleman  in  Europe  travelling 
through  Italy  in  the  seventeenth  or  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, with  a whole  retinue  of  servants,  and  in  coaches 
that  had  been  floated  down  rivers  of  France  or  Ger- 
many and  carried  piecemeal  over  the  Alps  on  mule- 
back,  to  go  home  again  filled  with  copper-plate  en- 
gravings and  hard-outline  reproductions  of  statuary 
which  seem  preposterous  to  our  modern  eyes.  To- 
day an  intelligent  schoolboy  can,  in  a way,  know 
more  of  Phidias  or  Praxiteles  than  could  Michel- 
angelo or  Benvenuto  Cellini. 

Understand  me  clearly.  I have  repeated  the  words 
“in  a way,”  for  in  another  way  a Michelangelo  or  a 
Donatello  was  a seer  and  a prophet  who  could  look, 
we  may  not  doubt  it,  backward  up  the  ages,  and 
vaticinate  over  a poor  Roman  copy,  finding  mighty 
stimulus  in  what  had  been  but  a borrowed  thought, 
a reflection  of  a light,  which,  hidden  from  Michel- 
angelo behind  horizons  or  under  earth,  shines  for  us 
to-day,  dimmed  perhaps  by  stains  and  breakage,  yet 
in  the  original  handiwork  of  a great  Hellene.  There- 
fore, there  is  no  excuse  for  us  if  we  feel  contempt 
for  other  ways  than  ours;  history,  archaeology,  pho- 
tography, travel  teach  us  that  many  methods  are 
peers  and  invaluable.  If  we  even  shrug  our  shoulders 


2 46  THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CULTURE 


gently  over  anything  artistic  that  has  completely 
developed,  it  is  not  quite  well  with  us;  then  what 
shall  we  say  of  those  post-impressionists  who  spit 
upon  the  past,  declaring  that  the  ancient  masters 
existed  only  to  show  us  what  to  avoid? 

To-day  learned  men  explain  to  us  both  the  Greek 
and  the  Gothic;  if  we  see  the  glory  of  Titian’s  color, 
we  know,  too,  the  still  greater  glory  of  the  glass  of 
Chartres  and  Bourges.  In  looking  on  the  sparkling 
splendor  of  Veronese’s  and  Tiepolo’s  canvases,  we 
can  remember  the  solemn  splendor  of  the  mosaics  of 
Ravenna  and  the  Palatine  Chapel.  We  may  be 
personally  all  devotion  to  one  school;  we  cannot  for- 
get that  another  beside  it  has  flourished  in  the  sun- 
shine of  sincere  popular  favor — popular,  that  is,  in 
the  largest  and  best  sense.  Do  we  bow  to  a cultus 
of  the  ugly  which  we  call  the  strong  and  the  true? 
Truly  Goya  is  magnificent,  but  how  about  the 
“Venus  of  Milo”?  Is  she  feeble,  is  she  artificial? 
Or  if  we  cry  out  with  Winckelmann  for  Greek  deities, 
how  about  Rembrandt?  Is  he  not  also  divine?  We 
must  not  abuse  Correggio  for  loving  great  starry  eyes 
and  filling  cupolas  with  elfin  or  godlike  presences, 
simply  because  we  see  in  the  distance  Chardin  coming 
along  with  his  loaf  of  bread  and  his  slice  of  cheese,  and 
love  him,  too.  Yes,  it  is  quite  true,  as  Ruskin  says, 
that  a German  may  be  as  solemnly  and  devoutly 
contemplative  of  a lemon-pip  and  a cheese-paring  as 
an  Italian  is  of  a Madonna  in  glory;  but  it  is  the 


THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CULTURE  247 


contemplativeness  of  either  which  is  his  invaluable 
possession,  and,  as  to  varying  mental  attitudes,  the 
more  our  light  is  broad-flung  over  great  surfaces  the 
more  crannies,  too,  it  will  illuminate,  and  the  better 
it  will  be  for  us,  the  more  the  illumination  will  beat 
back  into  our  hearts  and  minds.  While  the  gods 
and  giants  file  along  the  frieze  of  the  great  altar  of 
Pergamus,  men  and  maidens,  pages  and  cooks  and 
scullions,  too,  pass  us  panelled  upon  wood  or  copper 
by  the  hands  of  the  “little  Dutchmen,”  and  before 
these  giants  and  pygmies  alike  we  may  say:  “Stand, 
ye  are  perfect.”  Our  ignorance  of  a certain  phase 
of  art  does  not  cancel  it;  Madonna  is  as  beau- 
tiful potentially  in  the  darkness  at  night  in  the 
museum-gallery  as  by  day;  on  the  morrow  morn- 
ing we  may  admire  her  again,  if  we  will.  Think  for 
a moment  how  the  general  enthusiasm  has  always 
come  in  waves,  waxing  and  subsiding.  Forty  years 
ago  Rubens  was  a giant  in  name,  as  he  is  now  and 
always  shall  be;  but  people  thought  comparatively 
little  about  a certain  contemporary  and  friend  of 
Rubens,  who  had  been  Philip  IV.’s  majordomo, 
painted  royal  portraits,  and  was  named  Velasquez. 
By  and  by  the  French  masters  praised  him  to 
their  pupils,  and  Mr.  Stevenson  began  to  write 
of  him,  and  Sir  Walter  Armstrong  and  Mr.  Claude 
Phillips  and  Mr.  Ricketts  followed  suit;  until,  just 
as  in  the  sixteenth  century  the  Spanish  court 
brought  black  into  fashion  of  dress  all  over  Europe, 


248  THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CULTURE 


so  in  Munich  and  Paris  the  black  and  white 
pictures  came  to  the  fore,  and  upon  the  occasion  of 
any  argument,  despite  Whistler’s  query,  every  one 
dragged  in  Velasquez.  Rubens  was  in  the  shade 
for  the  moment  and  the  hispaniolated  art-lover 
maintained  that  Velasquez  was  far  greater  than 
Titian;  surely  in  unprofitable  discussion,  for  who 
cares  whether  Mount  Dhawalaghiri  or  Mount 
Kinchinjunga  is  a few  score  of  feet  the  higher?  If 
you  step  backward  and  view  the  Himalayas  in  their 
chain,  or  art  in  its  succession,  you  cannot  tell 
among  the  tallest  which  is  overtopping. 


X 


HAVE  WE  AS  YET  A STYLE? 


X 


HAVE  WE  AS  YET  A STYLE? 

If  travel  and  the  improved  reproduction  of  pic- 
tures have  made  us  familiar  with  the  famous  exam- 
ples of  the  latter,  have  we,  after  so  much  admiration, 
observation,  and  sometimes  imitation  of  the  art  of 
the  past,  anything  to-day  at  all  approaching  a style? 
We  can  at  least  affirm  that  we  have  some  strongly 
marked  tendencies.  Much  writing  has  been  devoted 
to  the  discussion  of  the  question  of  an  epochal  style 
in  art;  that  is  to  say,  a dominating  style  of  a period 
growing  gradually  out  of  a preceding  style,  lapsing 
gradually  into  a succeeding  one,  and  so  imposing 
itself  that  every  artist  worked  along  its  lines  as  nat- 
urally as  a man  walking  through  an  open  country 
would  keep  to  the  hard,  beaten,  easy  road.  Excur- 
sions afield  he  might  make,  and  the  greater  the  artist 
the  more  likely  he  would  be  to  overstep  the  common 
path,  but  he  could  never  wholly  get  away  from  it. 
Boucher  might  be  frivolous,  Fragonard  joyously  in- 
decorous, Chardin  grave,  homely,  and  recueilli , Cochin 
intensely  serious  with  his  little  engraved  profiles, 
Moreau  almost  classic  in  the  beauty  of  compositions 

251 


252  HAVE  WE  AS  YET  A STYLE? 


which  yet  are  heaped  up  with  falbalas  and  coquet- 
tish accessories  with  nonsensical  appellations,  but 
with  one  and  all  of  these  men  you  feel  the  century, 
eighteenth  in  name,  the  epoch  of  starch  and  powder, 
of  wig  and  patch  and  hoop  and  high  heels.  And  it 
is  so  with  earlier  centuries;  we  see  the  dryness  (de- 
lightful to  live  with,  for  all  that  it  is  dry  and  hard) 
of  the  fifteenth-century  Primitives,  loosening  and 
expanding  in  the  work  of  the  Roman  school,  gor- 
geously full-blown  in  that  of  the  Venetians,  as  the 
sap  of  antiquity  at  the  roots  of  art  begins  to  run 
again.  Then  we  note  returning  hardness,  stifFer, 
darker  costumes,  black  armors  even,  as  the  hand  of 
Spain  closes  upon  Italy,  a hardness  which,  unluckily, 
does  not  bring  back  with  it  the  precision  of  fifteenth- 
century  dryness,  until  a little  later  we  see  seicento 
writ  large  in  the  very  faces  of  saints  and  nymphs 
alike.  We  may  well  call  such  gradually  changing 
interpretations  of  nature  “styles,”  but  when  we  come 
to  our  own  time  we  should  be  hard  put  to  attempt 
such  denomination.  Probably  our  successors,  when 
far  enough  removed,  will  recognize  our  character- 
istics, but  they  will  not  be  so  marked  and  persistent 
as  those  of  the  past. 

Nor  is  this  because  we  have  sharpness  of  sudden 
contrast.  Our  ladies,  who  abruptly  drop  voluminous 
drapery  and  appear  to  be  clothed  in  an  enlarged 
lamp-wick,  tight,  cylindrical,  even-sided,  are,  after 
all,  not  much  more  suddenly  transformed  than  was 


r*  *-* 
§ .«* 
P<  cu 
<u 


cs  « 

O Ph 


HAVE  WE  AS  YET  A STYLE? 


253 


a Recamier  or  a Beauharnais,  svelte  and  low- 
crowned,  just  emergent  from  the  enormous  hoop  of 
a Marie  Antoinette,  and  from  under  the  huge  tower 
of  hair  and  ribands  and  feathers  which  (we  may 
quote  an  author  of  the  time)  made  a woman's  face 
appear  to  be  just  midway  between  her  heels  and 
the  top  of  her  coiffure.  Even  as  early  as  the  four- 
teenth century  had  come  an  equally  sudden  and 
prodigious  change,  when  men — for  this  time  it  was 
with  warriors,  not  women,  that  the  fashion  altered 
most — came  down  from  their  saddles  to  fight  on 
foot,  threw  off  the  gown  that  reached  the  heels, 
put  on  the  short,  padded  doublet,  the  juste-au-corps, 
the  tight-to-the-body,  the  ancestor  of  the  jersey, 
and  when  the  knights  at  Nicopolis  hacked  off  their 
long-toed  shoes  with  their  own  swords  in  order  to 
stand  firmly  on  their  feet.  No,  we  are  not  the  only 
people  who  have  made  sudden  changes,  but  the 
sudden  changes  of  the  past  were  not  directly  imitated 
as  ours  are.  We  run  a gamut  of  costume  skilfully 
varied  by  dressmakers  fortified  with  study  of  an- 
tique examples,  and  I cannot  believe  that,  with  our 
enormous  opportunity  for  eclecticism,  we  shall  ever 
have  such  gradually  evolved  and  distinctly  charac- 
terized styles  as  the  earlier  centuries  have  known. 
As  it  is  with  dress  so  it  is,  to  a certain  extent  at 
least,  with  the  graphic  arts.  We  have  been  shown 
so  much  that  we  inevitably  recognize  and  remem- 
ber many  kinds  of  excellence  and  admit  them  as 


254  HAVE  WE  AS  YET  A STYLE? 


such.  Partisans  some  of  us  will  be,  but  in  the  main 
a good  deal  of  catholicity  is  sure  to  be  bred. 

You  may  say,  people  have  never  agreed  much. 
I reply,  people  have  never  had  such  a chance  to 
agree  before,  and  to  accept  so  many  kinds  of  things, 
for  they  have  never  before  been  so  juxtaposed  with 
the  concrete  message,  not  only  with  infinitely  re- 
duplicated and  admirable  reproductions  of  art  works, 
but  with  the  originals.  Facility  and  cheapness  of 
transportation  have  brought  the  latter  near;  for  in 
spite  of  reproductions,  Mohammed  must  still  go  to 
the  mountain,  the  great  original.  But,  with  five- 
day  steamers  and  aeroplanes,  perhaps,  in  the  future, 
Mohammed  may  visit  so  many  mountains  in  a short 
time  that  admiration  and  understanding  of  varied 
kinds  of  good  things  will  become  possible.  Some  one 
has  said  that,  whether  we  agree  or  disagree  with 
Darwin,  we  can  no  longer  reflect  upon  certain  sub- 
jects without  doing  so  at  least  in  terms  of  Darwin- 
ism. This  application  has  been  passed  onward  fe- 
licitously to  the  system  of  Morelli  in  art  expertism. 
Whether  Morelli  was  right  or  wrong  in  specific  in- 
stances, we  cannot  to-day  conceive  of  a situation  in 
expertism  which  should  wholly  ignore  him.  When 
we  are  studying  the  authorship  of  old  pictures,  we 
are  bound  to  think  of  certain  things  in  terms  of  Mo- 
rellianism;  his  theories  have  opened  so  many  ordered 
vistas  that  our  eyes  are  bound  to  follow  them  instead 
of  straying. 


HAVE  WE  AS  YET  A STYLE? 


255 


And  to-day  we  could  not  fix  our  mental  eyes  upon 
any  focal  point  which  should  become  pivotal  to  the 
evolution  of  a style.  We  could  not  forget  what 
has  been  shown  us  in  delightful  but  confusing  quan- 
tity. In  the  past,  single-mindedness  sometimes  came 
from  dearth  of  knowledge.  For  instance,  toward 
the  end  of  the  twelfth  century,  when  the  aspiration 
of  the  whole  city  flamed  up  into  the  desire  and  the 
will  to  build  a minster,  the  knight  or  merchant  or 
beggar,  who  pushed  a barrow,  the  noble  lady  who 
tied  her  long  swinging  sleeves  into  bags  for  carrying 
heavy  stones,  the  child  who  brought  water  to  slake 
the  lime  for  the  workers,  never  thought  for  one  mo- 
ment about  Greek  temple  or  Roman  basilica,  or 
Egyptian  or  Assyrian  sculpture.  They  did  not  know 
anything  whatever  about  them;  they  only  knew 
that  there  in  Chartres  or  Paris  or  Rheims  they 
were  all  very  busy  rebuilding  a low-browed  heavy 
church,  which  we,  not  they,  would  call  Romanesque, 
into  a lofty  cage  of  masonry  full  of  huge  windows 
and  running  as  far  up  into  the  air  as  stone  construc- 
tion would  permit. 

To-day  when  we  build  a cathedral  we  are  plagued 
by  our  souvenirs  and  wonder  whether  we  shall  make 
it  “Romanesque”  or  “Gothic”  or  “Renaissance.” 
Whatever  we  do  make  and  whatever  we  call  it,  we 
may  be  sure  that  it  will  in  a way  resemble  some 
famous  building  of  the  past — and  why  should  it  not? 
In  the  arts  one  thing  is  born  of  another  as  surely  as 


256  HAVE  WE  AS  YET  A STYLE? 


man  is  born  of  woman.  Said  John  La  Farge  to  me 
several  years  ago:  “If  a pupil  tells  me  that  he  has 
done  something  wholly  original,  I do  not  want  to 
see  it.” 

To-day  when  we  decorate  a building  with  mural 
painting  we  must  follow  in  somebody  else’s  footsteps. 
They  may  have  trodden  the  rock  of  the  Acropolis 
or  the  sands  of  Asia  Minor  to  enter  the  cella  of  a 
Greek  temple,  or  they  may  have  trudged  the  po- 
lygonal pavement  of  a fifteenth-century  Florentine 
street,  but  wherever  we  go  somebody’s  footprints 
will  underlie  ours.  We  may  climb  upon  the  scaffold 
after  Giotto  in  Padua  to  study  simplicity  in  decora- 
tion; or  we  may  go  a few  hundred  feet  further  down 
the  streets  of  the  same  little  city  and  clamber  after 
Mantegna  up  his  ladders  to  admire  the  dry,  nervous 
draughtsmanship  of  one  of  the  noblest  of  stylists; 
or  in  some  convent’s  refectory,  we  may  humbly  try 
to  gather  up  a few  crumbs  that  fell  from  the  abun- 
dance of  Veronese’s  banquet;  but  wherever  we  pass 
we  shall  find  that  some  one  else’s  paint-box  has  been 
there  before  ours. 

And  there  is  nothing  in  all  this  to  discourage  one; 
nothing  to  avoid.  It  is  natural,  evolutionary,  and 
fecundating.  The  artist  who  worries  most  about 
being  individualistic  is  least  likely  to  become  so.  A 
fellow-worker  once  said  to  me:  “We  should  try  to 
be  spontaneous.”  Now,  he  who  tries  to  be  sponta- 
neous and  to  lift  himself  by  the  straps  of  his  boots 


‘The  Awakening  of  a Commonwealth.”  Panel  in  the  Luzerne  County  Court-House, 
Wilkes-Barre,  Pa. 

Example  of  the  portrait  used  In  large  groups  of  figures 


HAVE  WE  AS  YET  A STYLE? 


2 57 


is  certain  of  only  one  thing — exhaustion.  On  the 
contrary,  he  who  looks  and  learns  and  lingers  need 
not  fear,  if  he  really  be  an  artist  (if  he  be  not,  why! 
of  that  kind,  “ non  ragioniam  di  lor”),  that  his  fol- 
lowing footsteps  will  lead  him  away  from  himself. 
On  the  contrary,  he  will  find  himself;  a self  strength- 
ened by  his  contact  with  the  healthy  art  of  others; 
he  need  not  fear,  because  if  he  have  a real  personal- 
ity, no  matter  how  much  he  looks  at  the  work  of 
the  old  Italian,  he  cannot  possibly  be  anything  but 
an  American,  since  his  temperament,  if  he  have  one, 
is  part  of  himself,  and  therefore  of  his  race. 


XI 


EVOLUTION  OF  PRESENT  PRACTICE 


XI 


EVOLUTION  OF  PRESENT  PRACTICE 

I 

By  the  time  that  the  World's  Fair  of  Chicago 
closed  its  gates,  it  was  evident  that  America  would 
attempt  to  take  up  the  succession  of  the  older 
nations  in  mural  painting.  We  have  in  earlier  chap- 
ters considered  decoration  as  a form  of  artistic  en- 
deavor, described  some  of  its  processes,  and  enu- 
merated some  of  the  difficulties  which  confront  both 
architect  and  mural  painter.  We  shall  now  rather 
discuss  decoration  as  applicable  to  American  needs 
and  shall  try  to  consider  some  of  the  direct  or  indi- 
rect derivatives  of  our  contemporaneous  decorative 
practice.  Our  present  practice  in  mural  painting  in 
America  is  composite  in  its  origin.  Our  technic 
was  acquired  in  the  main  in  Paris  ateliers,  and  it  is 
applied  to  the  creation  of  wall  paintings  which  derive 
largely  from  study  of  the  Italian  work  of  the  Renais- 
sance, and  which  in  turn  is  in  some  cases  modified  by 
admiration  for  the  art  of  Puvis  de  Chavannes. 

Our  wall  paintings  are  almost  invariably  done  in 
oil  upon  canvas,  since  true  fresco  has  hardly  been 

261 


262  EVOLUTION  OF  PRESENT  PRACTICE 


attempted  in  America;  nevertheless  fresco  with  its 
clear  light  character  of  effect  has  influenced  us  not  a 
little,  particularly  through  the  practice  of  Puvis, 
who  felt  its  charm  profoundly,  though  he  himself 
worked  in  oils.  The  beginning  of  our  opportunity 
was  coincidental  with  the  greatest  celebrity  of  that 
artist,  who,  after  years  of  indifference  on  the  part  of 
the  public,  suddenly  came  into  his  own  with  his 
decorations  in  the  Pantheon  relating  to  the  life  of 
St.  Genevieve,  his  work  for  Amiens,  and  a little 
later  his  beautiful  hemicycle  of  the  Sorbonne. 

His  example  was  a valuable  lesson  in  what  one 
might  call  thinking  poetically  in  color  upon  large 
surfaces — above  all  in  a noble  simplicity.  He  did 
us  some  good  and  some  harm;  at  times  I am  tempted 
to  think  much  harm.  He  was  a man  to  study,  not 
to  imitate.  Many  modern  painters,  French  or 
American,  have  imitated  or  tried  to  imitate  him 
without  studying  him  very  seriously.  Instead  of 
studying  him  they  have  looked  hard,  too  hard  at  him. 

Real  extension  of  sympathy  in  either  pupil  or 
public,  sympathy  which  teaches  them  to  lift  their 
eyes,  comes  rather  from  turning  them  to  right  and 
left  than  from  staring  at  one  focal  light  until  they 
are  hypnotized  by  it.  To  hitch  your  wagon  to  a star 
is  wise,  for  the  distance  gives  perspective.  In  the 
study  of  Titian,  Correggio,  Rembrandt,  Veronese, 
lie  little  peril  and  much  reward.  These  great  painters 
came  so  long  before  us  that  they  lived  in  an  atmos- 


EVOLUTION  OF  PRESENT  PRACTICE  263 


phere  of  different  conditions.  Our  conditions  are 
so  separated  from  theirs  that  they  safeguard  us  from 
the  possibility  of  feeble  imitation.  But  if  we  try  to 
hitch  our  wagon  to  the  light  which  blazes  close  to 
our  eyes,  we  may  find  that  we  have  followed  not  a 
star  but  a meteor. 

This  danger  of  lingering  under  a great  contem- 
poraneous light,  instead  of  praying  and  working  for 
light  of  our  own,  is  exemplified  especially  by  the  dev- 
otees of  Puvis.  I have  seen  forty  men  at  least  who 
made  forty  shipwrecks  for  themselves  in  imitating 
him;  and  if  you  consider  minor  lights  you  will  find 
that  each  year  the  task  of  the  member  of  an  ex- 
hibition jury  is  made  a burden  to  him  by  the  young 
painters  who  imitate  some  brilliant  contemporary 
cleverly,  attaining  to  all  his  lesser  qualities  and 
falling  just  so  far  short  of  his  greater  ones,  that 
their  pictures  cannot  at  first  be  distinguished  from 
the  master’s  second-rate  work. 

When  a great  artist  breaks  the  way,  if  you  struggle 
along  his  path  at  a respectful  distance,  whether  of 
time  or  space,  you  may  note  the  proportions  of  his 
achievement  and  profit  by  them.  If  you  follow 
closely  in  his  every  footstep,  you  will  remain  in  his 
shadow  forever.  What  proved  at  once  most  illumi- 
nating and  misleading,  in  the  example  of  Puvis  de 
Chavannes,  was  the  extraordinarily  successful  effect 
which  he  achieved  in  the  Pantheon  in  Paris  by 
constantly  repeating  or  re-echoing  in  his  work  the 


264  EVOLUTION  OF  PRESENT  PRACTICE 


cool  light-colored  masonry  of  which  the  whole  build- 
ing was  constructed. 

Other  qualities  in  the  artist’s  work  were  as  im- 
portant, and  perhaps  even  more  fundamental  to 
his  contribution,  but  this  quality  was  the  most 
obvious.  It  sprang  from  a wise  realization  that,  if 
you  wish  your  decoration  to  cling  to  the  walls  of  a 
building  like  a great  drapery,  like  an  epidermis  even, 
you  must  marry  it  to  the  masonry  by  interfusion  of 
tonality  and  color.  He  reapprehended  a truth  which 
had  been  partially  forgotten  or  slighted,  but  which 
was  patent  to  the  old  masters,  namely,  that  true 
decoration  is  but  a continuity  of  the  surrounding 
masonry,  not  spots  plastered  upon  it,  whether  made 
up  of  painted  scenes  or  ornament.  This  success  was 
so  obvious  that  press  and  public  celebrated  it  eagerly. 
It  even  caused  a rival  of  Puvis  to  be  subjected  to 
rather  unjust  criticism. 

For  M.  Jean  Paul  Laurens  painted  upon  a neighbor- 
ing wall  another  series  of  decorations,  also  referring  to 
St.  Genevieve;  in  them  he  used  the  strong  and  heavy 
colors  special  to  his  art.  At  once  the  public  fell  upon 
him,  saying,  “How  inferior  he  is  to  Puvis!”  and 
therein  were  unjust.  To  have  said  that  as  decorator 
Puvis  had  shown  greater  feeling  and  better  judgment 
would  have  been  quite  correct,  but  in  other  important 
qualities  of  distribution  of  masses,  arrangement  of 
pattern,  juxtaposition  of  what  the  French  call  les 
plexus  et  les  vides , filled  and  empty  spaces,  Laurens 


EVOLUTION  OF  PRESENT  PRACTICE  265 


was  a great  decorator  in  his  way.  (Soon  after 
they  were  painted  I made  rough  small  copies  of  both 
their  decorations  and  verified  my  impressions.  These 
two  cycles  date  from  more  than  thirty  years  ago; 
M.  Laurens  afterwards  apparently  changed  his  atti- 
tude completely  in  relation  to  decorative  tonal- 
ity and  spacing.  His  large  canvas,  recently  placed 
in  the  Capitole  at  Toulouse,  is  diffuse  and  scattered 
as  to  spots,  and  if  compared  with  his  work  in  the 
Pantheon  is  light  in  general  tonality.) 

Now,  if  the  French  public,  inclusive  of  the  artists, 
somewhat  misapprehended  and  exaggerated  the 
office  of  light  coloration  in  the  work  of  Puvis,  it  is 
not  surprising  that  we  follow  suit  in  America;  all 
the  more  that  many  of  our  contemporaneous  Amer- 
ican mural  painters  had  worked  in  Parisian  ateliers 
as  young  students.  We  all  made  the  mistake  of 
thinking  that  Puvis’s  method,  admirably  suited  to 
certain  kinds  of  building,  was  suited  to  every  kind — 
that  it  and  it  only  was  decoration.  But  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  absolutism  in  art — everything  is  rela- 
tive; no  matter  how  long  continued,  how  static,  a 
certain  system  of  decoration  may  appear  in  history, 
we  shall  find  if  we  watch  it  that  it  is  in  a condition 
of  flux.  The  same  laws  are  applicable  to  stagnation 
here  as  elsewhere.  Puvis’s  decoration,  delightfully 
suited  to  a certain  sort  of  interior,  would  not  have 
fitted  another  kind.  As  we  stand  before  the  light, 
even  gay  tonality  of  some  of  the  churches  of  Lorn- 


266  EVOLUTION  OF  PRESENT  PRACTICE 


bardy — Santa  Maria  at  Saronno  is  a peculiarly  in- 
teresting instance — we  feel  in  looking  at  the  charm- 
ing panels  of  Luini,  the  delicate  colors  of  Lanini,  the 
almost  rollicking  angels  of  Gaudenzio  Ferrari,  play- 
ing away,  a whole  domeful  of  them,  overhead,  that 
Puvis’s  work  might  have  figured  worthily  among 
them.  Indeed — let  us  occasionally  give  the  modern 
master  his  due — Puvis  would  have  “bettered  his  in- 
structions. ” Though  he  might  not  in  his  heads  have 
approached  the  loveliness,  sometimes  consummate 
though  more  often  insipid,  of  Luini’s  madonnas  and 
maidens,  the  Frenchman’s  sense  of  distribution  of 
masses  would  never  have  tolerated  the  overloaded 
confusion  upon  the  walls  of  Luini’s  show  church  of 
San  Maurizio  in  Milan,  to  say  nothing  of  the  huge 
fresco  at  Lugano.  Certainly  Puvis’s  work  recalls 
not  only  that  of  the  fourteenth  century,  but  the 
light,  clear  tonality  of  the  Lombard  group;  and 
when  I first  had  the  honor  of  meeting  him  I ven- 
tured in  my  youthful  enthusiasm  to  recall  this  sug- 
gestion, thinking  it  to  be  a compliment  to  any  man. 
“Believe  me,  sir,”  he  replied,  “I  have  never  even 
seen  the  works  of  those  gentlemen”  [ces  messieurs). 

M.  Puvis  was  the  soul  of  courtesy,  indeed  of 
courtliness,  but  his  answer  had  a slight  savor  of 
asperity.  “ Ma  pur  si  muove ,”  I thought  to  myself. 
“The  Luinis  which  were  in  my  mind  are  in  the  newly 
arranged  room  of  the  Louvre,  recently  much  noticed 
by  the  public,  and  through  which  you  pass  fre- 


Copyright  by  Louis  C.  Tiffany 

Louis  C.  Tiffany:  Tiffany  Chapel,  crypt  of  Cathedral  of 
St.  John  the  Divine 


EVOLUTION  OF  PRESENT  PRACTICE  267 


quently.”  This  I,  however,  did  not  say  to  him.  The 
feeling  and  method  of  Puvis  de  Chavannes  were 
absolutely  suited  to  the  great  gray  Pantheon,  and 
he  prepared  his  own  surroundings  in  Amiens  and  at 
the  Sorbonne.  When  he  painted  his  decorations  for 
Boston  he  was  old,  near  the  end  of  his  life,  dreaded 
a sea  voyage,  and  did  not  come  to  America.  Had  he 
done  so,  I am  convinced,  that,  confronted  as  he 
would  have  been  by  yellow  Siena  marble  instead  of 
his  beloved  gray  surfaces,  he  would  have  modified 
the  tone  of  some  of  his  blues. 

Lovely  as  the  work  is,  especially  in  the  side 
panels,  I can  still  pass  up-stairs  anticipatively,  even 
from  the  presence  of  this  great  French  decorator,  to 
the  always  stimulating  work  of  Mr.  Sargent.  Never- 
theless we  should  feel  proud  that  through  the  initi- 
ative of  McKim  we  possess  an  important  series  of 
canvases  by  the  painter  of  the  loveliest  of  modern 
decorations,  the  Hemicycle  of  the  Sorbonne.  Im- 
mediately after  it,  and  indeed  not  after  it  in  some 
respects,  comes,  in  my  opinion,  the  beautiful  decora- 
tion by  John  La  Farge  in  the  Church  of  the  Ascen- 
sion, in  New  York.  It  has  not  had  as  much  influence 
upon  us  as  the  work  of  Puvis,  because  the  manner  of 
it  is  so  quiet  that  in  its  perfectness  it  offers  no  handle 
for  the  imitator  to  grasp.  Besides  leaving  to  us  his 
splendid  glass,  La  Farge  has  done  other  work  in  dec- 
orative painting,  but  my  own  admiration  reverts 
with  most  pleasure  to  his  “Ascension/’ 


268  EVOLUTION  OF  PRESENT  PRACTICE 


II 

To  return  to  our  American  practice:  we,  all  of  us, 
decided  that  the  fundamental  property  of  decora- 
tive painting  was  to  be  its  lightness  of  coloration, 
and  we  said  many  wise  things  about  its  “ clinging 
to  the  wall”  and  “not  making  a hole.”  We  forgot 
that  a gray  wall  surrounded  by  gray  columns  and 
capitals  and  cornices,  in  the  Pantheon,  for  instance, 
was  wholly  different  from  a wall  set  with  the  richly 
carved  woodwork  of  sixteenth-century  churches,  the 
deeply  cut  caissons  of  Venetian  ceilings,  even  the 
delicate  sculpture  or  intarsia  of  fifteenth-century 
Tuscany  and  Umbria.  Sometimes  the  old  Italians 
worked  in  very  cheap  material,  and  put  all  their 
money  into  the  painted  surface.  They  gave  to 
Giotto  in  Padua,  to  Botticelli  and  Michelangelo  in 
the  Sistine  Chapel,  just  huge  boxes  of  plastered  stone 
with  some  holes  knocked  in  them  for  windows.  To 
Tiepolo  in  the  Labbia  Palace  the  same  sort  of  in- 
terior was  accorded.  The  artists  turned  these  rough 
places  into  dreams  of  beauty.  In  other  cases  the 
Italians  used  gold  and  dark  woods  in  profusion  and 
lavished  rich  marbles.  Here  was  an  opportunity  for 
quite  another  treatment;  and  when  Perugino  or 
Veronese  or  Tiepolo  entered  such  an  interior  with 
his  assistants  and  his  working-drawings  he  adapted 
himself  and  his  tonalities  at  once  to  this  different 
and  richer  surrounding. 


EVOLUTION  OF  PRESENT  PRACTICE  269 


We  ’prentice  hands  here  in  America  twenty- 
five  years  ago  remembered  Puvis’s  Pantheon,  and 
thought  that  all  decoration  should  be  ultra-light  in 
tone,  forgetting,  or  rather  not  foreseeing,  that  the 
building  commissioners  in  various  States  might  like 
the  native  marbles  for  their  capitols,  and  where  rich- 
ness of  color  existed  in  any  local  vein  might  very 
naturally  encourage  its  exploitation.  I recall  the 
pride  with  which,  filled  as  I was  with  this  obsession 
of  pale  coloration,  I showed  to  visitors  that  upon  a 
certain  one  of  my  decorative  panels  a spot  of  pure 
yellow  ochre  looked  almost  a blot  of  ink.  My  pride 
in  that  performance  has  wholly  departed,  and  it  is 
probable  that  some  of  my  comrades  have  shared 
my  experience  and  my  disillusionment.  A further 
study  of  decoration  has  shown  me  that  even  upon  a 
white  surface  it  is  not  necessary  to  follow  closely  the 
example  of  Puvis.  As  one  wanders  through  those 
exquisite  rooms  of  the  archives  at  the  Hotel  de  Sou- 
bise,  to  quote  an  example  accessible  to  all,  in  the 
heart  of  Paris,  and  then  remembers  many  other 
hotels  of  the  epoch  of  the  dainty,  of  hair  powder  and 
red  heels,  one  realizes  that  Natoire  and  Lemoyne  and 
the  rest  of  them  were  not  one  bit  afraid  of  color — 
light,  if  you  will,  but  clear,  strong,  and  transparent, 
and  never  grayed  into  flat  opacity. 

The  fact  remains  that  we  learned  much  of  Puvis, 
and  may  still  profit  greatly  by  his  example,  provided 
we  keep  in  mind  that  his  is  only  one  of  a number  of 


270  EVOLUTION  OF  PRESENT  PRACTICE 

systems,  suited  to  differing  sets  of  conditions,  and 
realize  that  in  art  we  have  not  one  way  but  many 
ways  leading  to  a successful  result.  I have  given 
much  space  to  the  discussion  of  Puvis  de  Chavannes, 
because  in  the  short  story  of  our  mural  painting, 
as  thus  far  developed,  he  has  greatly  counted. 


XII 

INFLUENCE  OF  THE  FIFTEENTH  AND 
SIXTEENTH  CENTURIES 


XII 


INFLUENCE  OF  THE  FIFTEENTH  AND 
SIXTEENTH  CENTURIES 

I 

There  are  some  lovers  of  mural  painting,  and  very 
cultivated  lovers  too,  whose  culture  has  not  elimi- 
nated prejudice,  who  affirm  that  the  work  of  the 
Italian  fifteenth  century  is  the  expression  of  the  last 
really  decorative  style,  or  who  maintain  that  Puvis’s 
painting  alone  is  mural;  or  who,  in  some  alcove 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  say  that  there  only  may 
be  found  the  truly  exquisite  exemplar  of  decora- 
tion. They  are  those,  in  short,  who  would  adopt  a 
style  and  proclaim  all  others  illegitimate.  But  why 
to-day,  since  we  have  no  characteristic  style,  stop 
short  with  any  style  whatever?  What  would  have 
become  of  art  if  others  had  stopped;  why  break  off 
with  Puvis  and  the  nineteenth  century,  or  with 
Pinturicchio  and  Perugino  in  the  fifteenth,  why  not 
with  Giotto  in  Padua  of  the  fourteenth;  why  not 
with  the  stucco  reliefs  in  the  Baths  of  Diocletian; 
why  not  have  stopped  once  for  all  with  the  sculptors 
of  Abydos  ? Where  would  Perugino  and  Pinturicchio 
or  Veronese  or  Puvis  have  been  if  men  had  not 


273 


274 


INFLUENCE  OF  FIFTEENTH 


loosened  the  conventional  bonds  of  Egypt,  and 
Byzantium  had  not  followed  Rome,  and  mediaeval 
masons  come  after  Romanesque  monks?  He  who 
declares  that  any  one  style  is  right  and  departure 
from  it  wrong,  is  blocking  the  chariot-wheels  of  art. 

There  are  people  who  would  reply  to  this:  “We 
do  not  wish  to  interfere  with  the  roll  of  the  chariot- 
wheels.  Let  them  continue  down  the  broad  road  of 
the  general  development  of  art;  we  only  say  that 
here  (in  the  fifteenth  century,  for  instance)  the  branch 
road  of  the  truly  decorative  ends.”  In  making 
their  distinction,  let  these  objectors  note  the  fol- 
lowing: When  Gozzoli,  Ghirlandajo,  Botticelli,  Peru- 
gino,  Pinturicchio,  and  the  others  practised  a certain 
kind  of  painting  in  their  decorations,  they  painted  in 
exactly  the  same  way  in  their  easel  pictures,  their 
altar-pieces,  and  their  portraits;  and  just  as  soon 
and  just  as  fast  as  they  learned  to  broaden  their  por- 
traits and  easel  pictures,  they  put  precisely  the  same 
breadth  into  their  decorative  painting.  They  never 
had  any  doubt  at  all  as  to  what  they  ought  to  do; 
they  proposed  to  develop  as  rapidly  as  they  might, 
and  I do  not  think  that  we  can  logically  bisect  them, 
letting  half  their  art  progress  and  the  other  half  re- 
main fixed  upon  the  vaulting  as  the  last  legitimate 
decoration.  The  style  of  Perugino  and  Pinturicchio 
is  very  beautiful,  and  may  be  used  with  great  ad- 
vantage in  America,  but  it  is  not  final;  no  style  is. 

Pinturicchio’s  vogue  had  come  partly  from  the 


C.  Y.  Turner:  “Washington  Watching  the  Assault  on  Fort  Lee.”  Decoration  for  the  Cleveland  Court-House 

Showing  the  artist  working  with  assistants  in  his  studio 


AND  SIXTEENTH  CENTURIES  275 


fascinating  and  sensational  restoration  made  in  con- 
nection with  the  Papal  Jubilee,  and  at  the  Pope’s 
own  expense,  of  the  decorations  in  the  Borgia  apart- 
ments of  the  Vatican.  These  latter  in  a consider- 
able measure  focalized  the  decorative  tendencies  of 
the  Italian  fifteenth  century,  and  exhibited  them 
under  a peculiarly  brilliant  light  in  the  frescoes  of 
Pinturicchio.  In  relation  to  this  work,  just  as  to 
that  of  Puvis,  we  may  heartily  sympathize  with 
those  who  have  admired  and  used  it,  may  warmly 
approve  it  as  one  of  the  most  excellent  systems  of 
decoration,  and  may  still  emphatically  protest  against 
those  who  say,  “Now  this  I call  real  decoration” 
with  the  inference  that  broader  and  later  methods 
are  not  truly  decorative.  Of  course,  it  is  true  dec- 
oration, this  work  of  Perugino  and  Pinturicchio, 
and  very  beautiful  decoration;  to  lose  it  would 
deprive  us  of  some  of  the  world’s  chief  treasure. 
But  why  not  admit  its  logical  succession,  why  tarry 
among  the  grotesques  of  the  Vatican,  and  refuse 
to  pass  on  into  the  Stanze  with  their  greater  artistic 
breadth  and  freedom,  their  more  advanced  and  de- 
veloped art;  why  remain  with  the  entrancing  rich- 
ness, the  formalized  ultramarine  and  gold  of  Pinturic- 
chio’s  vaulting  to  the  Borgia  apartments,  and  refuse 
to  accept  as  equally  true  decoration  those  canvases 
of  Veronese  (or  his  school,  who  cares?)  in  the  Sala  del 
Collegio  of  the  Ducal  Palace  in  Venice,  which,  when 
seen  at  the  right  hour  in  their  deep  ceiling  caissons, 


2 76  INFLUENCE  OF  FIFTEENTH 


fairly  smoulder  and  glow  with  color?  In  one  case, 
that  of  Pinturicchio,  the  surface  vibrates  from  the 
juxtaposition  of  little  spots  of  gold  and  pigment,  of 
tiny  relieved  bits,  of  embossed  pattern  of  belt  or 
drapery;  even,  and  very  essentially,  at  times,  from 
beautiful,  accidental  disintegration,  and  flaking  away 
of  the  paint.  In  the  other  case,  that  of  Veronese, 
the  canvas  pulsates  and  palpitates  under  the  brush 
work.  The  effect  is  very  nearly  as  rich,  and  is,  on 
the  whole,  the  result  of  a more  masterly  influence. 
The  wise  decorator  will  study  both  styles  and  profit 
by  each  of  the  two  without  prejudice  to  the  other. 

One  very  valuable  property,  especially  to  Amer- 
icans, of  the  style  of  Pinturicchio  and  the  fifteenth- 
century  artists  nearest  akin  to  him,  is  that  it  is  a 
safe  style  to  begin  with  in  a young  school  of  paint- 
ing— much  safer  than  that  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
because  much  easier  to  handle  well.  In  such  rooms 
as  those  of  the  Cambio  at  Perugia,  the  Mantuan 
palaces,  or  many  others  in  different  cities,  the  archi- 
tect himself  has  worked  over  the  composition  of  line 
and  space  so  much  that  it  is  left  to  the  painter  and 
sculptor  to  only,  as  it  were,  continue  and  amplify 
his  patterns,  and  by  just  so  much  the  task  of  painter 
and  sculptor  becomes  easier.  The  frame  of  mould- 
ings presented  by  the  architect  can  stiffen  and  hold 
up  and  almost  make  easy  a quite  adequate  decora- 
tion, where  drawing  and  modelling,  which  are  rela- 
tively inferior,  pass  muster  easily  within  such  a 


AND  SIXTEENTH  CENTURIES  277 


splendid  formal  setting.  In  the  Cambio , a great 
master;  in  the  Sienese  Libreria , a fertile,  splendor- 
loving  decorator  immortalized  the  work,  but  in 
hundreds  of  rooms  in  Italy  the  same  kind  of  formal- 
ized framing  was  filled  out  with  grotesques  and  little 
figures  and  landscapes,  powdered  with  gold  or  de- 
pendent wholly  on  pigment,  and  the  painting  was 
carried  through  by  practically  unknown  men,  yet 
with  almost  as  much  effect  as  was  obtained  in  the 
rooms  by  Perugino  and  Pinturicchio. 

This  effect  comes  from  the  fact  that  the  fifteenth- 
century  painter  thought  first  and  last  of  his  room  as 
a whole , as  a piece  of  architectonic  completeness. 
It  is  as  a lesson  in  the  latter  direction  that  the  fol- 
lowing of  quattrocento  art  in  America  deserves  high 
praise.  Some  of  those  who  have  followed  it  have 
achieved  beautiful  and  exceptionally  satisfactory  re- 
sults, and  deserve  our  gratitude  for  their  steadying 
and  truly  artistic  influence — their  solid  contribution. 

When  the  practice  of  art  takes  on  a form  new  to 
the  country  in  which  it  occurs,  it  is  only  natural 
to  practitioners  and  public  to  refer  at  once  to  times 
and  places  in  the  past  when  and  where  the  aforesaid 
form  was  in  vogue.  Thus  when  the  Boston  Public 
Library  and  the  Chicago  Exhibition  called  the  at- 
tention of  the  public  to  mural  painting,  our  Amer- 
ican eyes  reverted  at  once  to  Italy.  In  Puvis  de 
Chavannes  we  saw  the  influence  of  the  fourteenth 


278 


INFLUENCE  OF  FIFTEENTH 


century,  in  Pinturicchio’s  Borgia  apartments  the 
influence  of  the  fifteenth;  there  remained  also  to  be 
reckoned  with,  as  a stimulus,  the  decorative  paint- 
ing of  the  culminating  period,  as  shown  in  the  work 
of  the  sixteenth  century. 

About  the  year  fifteen  hundred  Renaissance  art 
came  of  age,  the  adolescent  period  was  past;  the 
practice  of  decoration  was  centred  and  focussed  in 
Rome,  whence  but  a little  later  it  shifted  to  Venice. 
After  and  even  while  Pinturicchio  and  Ghirlandajo 
painted,  there  were  younger  artists  who  were  be- 
ginning to  breathe  deeper  and  ask  for  more  and 
freer  wall-space.  It  was  still  the  time  of  the  very 
protagonists  of  quattrocento  decoration;  Botticelli, 
Perugino,  Roselli,  stood  upon  the  scaffolding  of  the 
Sistine  Chapel  as  alternating  masters  of  the  works. 
It  was  the  heyday  of  their  art,  which  had  reached 
its  zenith.  It  was  the  period  of  the  Sala  del  Cambio 
in  Perugia,  of  the  Borgia  apartments  in  the  Vatican, 
the  Libreria  of  Siena,  when  the  pupil  assistants 
(Michelangelo  Buonarotti  himself  was  among  them 
as  garzone  of  the  bottega  of  Ghirlandajo)  were 
gathering  up  all  the  most  lovely  decorative  acces- 
sories of  the  Renaissance,  the  scrolls  and  vines  and 
candelabra  and  romping  panthers  and  nereids  and 
cupids,  and  were  disposing  them  about  the  figure 
compositions  of  their  masters.  It  was  the  moment 
of  the  final,  the  richest,  and  in  some  respects  the 
most  admirable  exemplification  of  a delightfully 


AND  SIXTEENTH  CENTURIES  279 


decorative  treatment  of  the  walls.  But  already  the 
protagonists  began  to  realize  that  their  road  was 
widening.  They  had  learned  their  lesson  in  per- 
spective and  anatomy;  in  the  application  of  dec- 
orative detail  they  had  turned  their  kaleidoscope 
over  and  over  again  to  the  creation  of  unending  com- 
binations of  lovely  pattern.  They  had  diverged 
from  the  fourteenth-century  road  of  Giotto,  with  its 
larger  because  simpler  significance,  and  now  they 
began  instinctively  to  turn  back  to  it  again. 

Perugino,  the  arranger  of  scrolls  and  medallions, 
the  creator  of  strange  decorative  detail  of  helmets 
like  chandeliers,  and  shields  like  ornamental  box- 
lids;  Botticelli,  the  illustrator  of  Dante;  Ghirlandajo, 
the  goldsmith — all  began  to  feel  the  need  of  more 
elbow-room  (Ghirlandajo  indeed  had  longed  for  the 
town  walls  of  Florence  to  cover  with  decoration). 
In  painting  the  great  rectangular  compositions  of 
the  lower  walls  of  the  Sistina,  these  hierophants  of 
fifteenth-century  art  carried  as  far  as  their  develop- 
ment would  compass,  exactly  what  their  partisans 
to-day  look  askance  at  in  the  practice  of  Veronese 
and  Tintoretto  and  Tiepolo. 

Probably  the  humanist,  the  scholar,  is  to  a certain 
extent  answerable  for  the  earliest  ventures.  It  is  pos- 
sible enough  that  Botticelli  at  first  pushed  his  bark 
somewhat  timorously  out  upon  the  waters  of  a wider 
experience,  but  without  doubt  a feeling  for  greater 
breadth,  even  in  the  superficial  space  accorded  to 


28o 


INFLUENCE  OF  FIFTEENTH 


pictorial  composition,  was  in  the  air.  Signorelli’s 
trumpets,  sounding  the  Last  Judgment  in  the  Cathe- 
dral of  Orvieto,  sounded  also  the  initial  flourish  to 
the  triumphal  march  of  sixteenth-century  art.  When 
he  painted  “The  Blessed”  and  “The  Damned,”  he 
might  tuck  episodes,  scenes  from  the  Divina  Corn- 
media  down  into  the  spandrel’s  point,  and  work  them 
into  a decorative  pattern  with  scrolls  and  scutcheons; 
but  when  he  came  to  his  main  subjects  he  felt  that 
he  wanted  for  each  one  no  broken  wall  with  lu- 
nettes and  tondi,  but  a whole  vast  side  of  the  Brizzi 
Chapel,  just  as  Veronese,  three-quarters  of  a century 
later,  would  have  claimed  the  entire  end  of  a refec- 
tory for  a Marriage  of  Cana  in  Galilee. 

Great  men  had  been  born,  and  were  now  working 
as  apprentices,  who  were  to  be  even  unreasonably  im- 
patient of  ornament.  For  such  impatience  is  dan- 
gerous, and  only  the  Signorellis  and  Michelangelos 
of  this  world  can  be  contemptuous  of  decorative 
accessory  without  peril  to  themselves.  Michel- 
angelo cared  so  much  for  the  human  body  that  he 
rarely  averted  his  eyes  from  it  in  favor  of  anything 
else  in  nature;  but  when  all  is  said,  his  curiously  in- 
volved head-dresses  and  his  braided  coiffures  testify 
to  his  ability,  when  he  chose  to  use  ornament,  even 
if  he  did  think  it  unworthy  of  his  time  and  skill,  as 
long  as  he  could  make  patterns  of  his  mighty  bodies, 
for  that  is  what  Michelangelo  and  Raphael,  too,  did 
with  the  personages  of  their  action.  They  deliber- 


Louis  David  Vaillant:  “The  Picnic.”  Decorative  panel 


AND  SIXTEENTH  CENTURIES  281 


ately  made  them  into  great  decorative  patterns. 
Correggio  also  was  inclined  to  shake  off  the  bonds  of 
ornament,  and  wear,  as  it  were,  only  loose  garlands. 
He  trellised  his  cupids  of  San  Paolo,  and  let  his  babies 
look  out  from  oval  bowers  of  leaves,  free  from  any 
risk  of  catching  their  feet  or  hands  in  the  tangle  of 
curling  tendrils  to  formalized  scrolls.  He  spread 
feather-beds  of  clouds  for  the  Apostles,  who  recline 
and  sometimes  sprawl  upon  the  pendentives  of  San 
Giovanni  Evangelista,  and  he  filled  the  dome  of  the 
Cathedral  of  Parma  with  naked  bodies.  Possibly, 
no  one  cut  loose  so  completely  from  tradition  as  he 
did,  but  then  Correggio  is  always  an  exception  in  the 
history  of  art,  the  exception  that  proves  the  rule,  the 
only  instance  of  a prophet  unhonored  save  in  his  own 
country,  the  only  giant  who  during  his  lifetime  was 
passed  over  by  such  a visiting  connoisseur  as  Bembo, 
and  was  apparently  known — and  then  largely  by 
fortunate  accident  of  friendship  with  Veronica  Gam- 
bar  a — to  only  one  of  the  arch  patrons  of  the  Renais- 
sance, the  great  marchioness,  the  Marchesana  Isa- 
bella d’Este. 

With  Correggio  and  the  protagonists  of  the  Ro- 
man School,  came  the  colossi,  whose  mural  painting 
we  should  lose  if  we  admitted  as  decorative  only 
fifteenth-century  art.  In  fact,  just  at  this  period 
came  the  culmination  of  the  change  in  painting 
which  ushered  in  the  mural  panel,  vast  in  size  and 
in  subject.  In  place,  for  instance,  of  Ghirlandajo’s 


282 


INFLUENCE  OF  FIFTEENTH 


wall  in  the  Sala  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio  of  Florence, 
to  take  a typical  example,  we  have  a Marriage  of 
Cana  by  Paul  Veronese;  in  place  of  Perugino’s  vault- 
ing to  the  Hall  of  the  Exchange  in  Perugia,  full  of 
scrolls  and  geometrical  patterns  and  figurines,  we 
have  a cupola  of  Parma  by  Correggio,  filled  with 
clouds  and  angels.  As  in  any  very  radical  change 
in  systems,  potential  in  either  case  for  delight,  there 
was  great  gain  and  great  loss  on  either  side — great 
loss  of  delicate,  exquisite  richness,  and  architectonic 
completeness,  great  gain  of  simplicity  and  breadth 
and  nobility.  And,  as  in  every  such  instance,  we 
must  try  to  adjust  ourselves,  to  balance  both  sides 
of  the  ledger,  and  get  profit  from  the  loss,  since  we 
must  have  loss  in  our  profit.  Much  of  the  older 
lesson  could  persist  in  its  influence,  much  of  the 
delicate  ornament  could  be  preserved,  and  could  still 
enrich  and  engarland  the  great  new  compositions. 
And  these  same  great  new  compositions  were  to  be- 
come the  most  renowned  examples  in  the  entire  his- 
tory of  painting.  The  continuance  of  the  fifteenth- 
century  system  of  decoration  would  have  involved 
the  renunciation,  the  loss,  of  these  world-famous 
works,  these  teachers  and  sources  of  inspiration. 

The  partisans  of  quattrocento  art  would  break  up 
the  wall  into  relatively  small  divisions,  and  spot 
the  great  panel  with  gold  and  pattern.  Such  an 
ordering  is  lovely  and  decorative,  but  the  splendid 
breadth  and  volume  of  the  sixteenth-century  sys- 


AND  SIXTEENTH  CENTURIES  283 


tem  is  even  more  valuable,  and  it  is  only  upon 
wide  stretches  of  wall  that  the  great  outpouring  be- 
comes possible.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  vast  mu- 
ral panel,  Raphael,  Correggio,  Veronese,  Tintoretto 
would  not  have  found  space  to  open  their  mighty 
wings,  and  the  world  would  never  have  known 
Michelangelo  as  painter.  Had  the  quattrocento  order- 
ing been  retained,  art  would  have  been  robbed  of 
the  Cana  of  the  Louvre,  the  Crucifixion  of  Tin- 
toretto, the  ceilings  of  Tiepolo,  the  great  wall  can- 
vases of  Rubens  and  Vandyck,  and  so  many  others 
beside.  Could  we  spare  them? 

To  be  suspicious  and  uneasy  regarding  very  large 
canvases  is  natural  enough,  because  there  are  so 
many  bad  ones,  and  the  reason  for  this  badness  is  as 
patent — it  is  because  to  do  good  ones  is  very  difficult. 
But  this  fact  affords  no  reason  for  giving  them  up; 
rather,  on  the  contrary,  the  very  strongest  reason  in 
the  world  for  admiring  them  and  studying  them 
above  all  other  forms  of  decoration — studying  them 
as  the  examples  most  perfectly  suited  to  the  wor- 
thiest celebration  of  the  noblest  themes  of  the  past, 
the  present,  or,  so  far  as  we  can  yet  know,  of  the  fu- 
ture. In  that  future  will  be  raised  here  in  America 
capitols  and  court-houses  and  libraries,  vast  build- 
ings of  all  descriptions  in  which  will  be  signalized 
the  fastes  and  some  of  the  tristia , too,  of  the  common- 
wealth. In  the  making  of  this  celebration  and  com- 
memoration we  shall  need  the  lovely  motives  of  the 


284 


INFLUENCE  OF  FIFTEENTH 


fifteenth  century,  modernized  into  appropriateness, 
to  bind  together  our  subjects,  but  when  these  become 
events  of  national  import,  battles  on  sea  and  land, 
and  apotheoses  of  inventions  and  discoveries,  the 
victories  in  short  of  war  and  peace,  we  may  not,  we 
must  not,  crowd  them  into  little  panels,  medallions, 
octagons,  and  lunettes;  we  must  give  them  breath- 
ing space,  the  wide  stretch  of  wall  which  Veronese 
and  Raphael  and  Rubens  loved. 

And  just  as  Raphael  and  Veronese  and  Rubens 
and  Tiepolo  went  on  one  after  the  other,  adding  each 
some  new  element — mind  you,  I do  not  say  always 
improving,  but  always  adding  and  changing — so  in 
our  case  we  shall  modify  and  alter,  loosening  our  sur- 
face here,  tightening  it  there,  finding  new  modes  of 
handling,  practising  them,  pushing  them  for  a while 
to  the  very  front  as  ultimate,  then  abandoning  them 
for  others,  forging  always  new  links  in  the  chain  of 
the  arts. 


II 

It  is  easy  to  see  why  the  traveller  in  Italy  should 
sometimes  conceive  prejudice  against  mural  paint- 
ing on  a very  large  scale.  The  practice  of  using 
vast  canvases  was  at  first  coincident  with  the  great- 
est moment  of  art,  but  necessarily  and  by  inexorable 
law  that  moment  soon  lapsed.  Naturally  the  epoch 
of  decadence  lasted  longer,  and  produced  more;  and 


AND  SIXTEENTH  CENTURIES  285 


just  as  naturally  the  visitor  to  Italy  sees  more  of  its 
productions  and  is  unpleasantly  affected. 

After  the  use  came  the  abuse  of  such  decoration, 
and  it  is  against  the  abuse  that  one  instinctively  and 
properly  rebels.  Toward  the  end  of  the  sixteenth 
century  the  painted  outpouring  of  figures  became 
hysterical,  the  gods  and  nymphs,  heroes  and  sages, 
who  already  covered  the  walls  and  ceilings  of  the 
great  sala,  swarmed  out  through  the  windows  and 
spread  and  climbed  upon  the  facade.  We  mourn 
the  fading  of  Giorgione’s  fresco  upon  the  Fondaco 
dei  Tedeschi  because  he  was  Giorgione.  We  like  to 
feel  that  he  and  his  comrade  Titian  were  not  yet 
far  enough  within  the  threshold  of  the  sixteenth 
century  to  depart  from  the  great  traditions  of  archi- 
tectonic treatment.  But  when  we  hear  that  Tin- 
toretto painted  a whole  cavalry  fight  “for  the  price 
of  his  colors  and  to  show  his  hand”  upon  the  facade 
of  a Venetian  palace,  our  remembrance  of  Jacopo’s 
audacious  disinvoltura  of  spirit  in  the  face  of  any 
hard-and-fast  ruling  makes  us  shrug  our  shoulders. 
The  practice  of  using  huge  canvases  had  been  abused. 
When  a big  thing  is  weak  it  is  more  offensive  than  a 
little  one.  We  instinctively  look  for  an  observation 
of  proportion  appropriate  to  the  character  of  the 
work,  and  should  probably  not  care  to  see  even 
Botticelli’s  “Venus,”  for  instance,  as  big  as  the 
Delphica;  and  this  is  why  we  are  anxious  and  sus- 
picious regarding  large  canvases,  for  what  happened 


286 


INFLUENCE  OF  FIFTEENTH 


in  the  late  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries  in 
Italy  may  happen  here  and  now,  though  I shall 
not  add  a fortiori , for  a young  and  growing  school  is 
safeguarded  from  some  things  by  its  very  timidity. 

Furthermore  our  American  school  of  painting, 
young  as  it  is,  is  on  the  upward  trend,  and  we  must 
take  some  risks,  trying  at  least  to  turn  our  blunders 
into  stepping-stones.  The  small  panel,  to  be  sure,  is 
apt  to  be  safer  than  the  large  one;  a song  is  easier  to 
write  acceptably  than  a symphony,  but  the  fact 
would  not  excuse  discontinuing  symphonies,  and  as 
for  safety  in  mural  painting,  if  that  is  what  you 
are  after,  the  logical  end  is  plain  kalsomine.  If 
the  great  wall  painting  be  a complete  success,  and 
it  sometimes  was  in  the  hands  of  Michelangelo, 
Veronese,  Tintoretto,  Rubens,  it  is  apt  to  be  as 
highly  organized  and  vital  as  any  painting  that  has 
been  produced,  and  perhaps  most  inclusive  of  all. 

After  Veronese  and  Tintoretto  the  crest  of  the 
wave  broke,  and  their  followers  took  easily,  too 
easily,  what  they  liked  from  the  wreckage  which 
lay  spread  around.  Even  for  the  modern  painter, 
humble  though  he  should  be  before  memory  of 
the  past,  there  is  a certain  temptation  of  the 
devil  which  comes  with  especial  force  to  the  decora- 
tor who  looks  down  from  the  high  places  of  his 
scaffold  upon  great  stretches  of  wall,  and  thinks 
that  the  world  is  his  if  he  will  only  easily  and  quickly 
throw  something  fluent  and  attractive  upon  the  said 


Eliiiu  Vedder:  “Rome.”  Decoration  in  the  Walker  Art  Gallery,  Bowdoin  College 

Example  of  figure  and  ornament,  combined  in  the  manner  of  the  early  sixteenth  century 


AND  SIXTEENTH  CENTURIES  287 


space.  The  theatre  for  his  display  is  so  brilliant 
in  its  possibilities — summary  work  seen  at  a distance 
may  be  so  effective — and  there  is  so  much  which  he 
could  borrow  easily  from  his  souvenirs,  that  it  is 
very  hard  for  the  decorator  to  resist,  to  nerve  him- 
self for  hard  work,  and,  above  all,  hard  thinking. 
But  that  is  what  he  must  do  unless  he  would  prove 
a nuisance  even,  since  slight  work  becomes  irritating 
and  finally  grows  offensive  to  the  intelligent-minded, 
so  that  its  existence  works  real  injury  to  the  future 
of  mural  painting  and  disposes  us  to  reject  it  in  toto 
in  favor  of  simple  pattern  or  colored  marble. 

And  this  is  the  bane  of  decadent  art,  that  “born 
too  late  in  a world”  of  art  methods  made  too  easy, 
its  practice  leaves  the  onlooker  indifferent  at  first, 
then  irritates  him,  then  disgusts  him. 


XIII 


MODERN  TECHNIC  AND  PRESENT 
TENDENCY 


XIII 


MODERN  TECHNIC  AND  PRESENT 
TENDENCY 

Several  of  the  foregoing  chapters  have  been  de- 
voted to  the  derivation  of  our  practice  in  mural 
painting;  of  course,  any  practice  involves  prefer- 
ence, but  when  personal  preference  becomes  so 
burning  a question  that  we  have  to  plead  for  even 
toleration,  we  are  pretty  sure  to  find  that  technical 
execution,  the  manner  of  using  the  tools,  is  what 
we  have  to  discuss.  The  most  narrow-minded  of 
artists  is  naturally  the  student,  because  he  is  im- 
mediately and  embarrassingly  preoccupied,  not  with 
methods,  but  with  a method.  By  means  of  this 
method  he  hopes  to  attain  his  ideal.  Now  whatever 
may  be  said  about  “Feeling”  and  “Freedom”  and 
their  logical  sequence  of  annihilation  of  methods,  we 
still  have  some  schools  and  some  students  left,  and 
we  have  tried  to  show  that  the  school  ideal  of  the 
present  is  vigor  of  presentation. 

Upon  a canvas  or  a wall  all  that  an  artist  has  to 
depend  upon,  for  personal  expression,  is  a flat,  painted 
surface;  to  make  that  surface  vital  and  entertain- 

2QI 


292 


MODERN  TECHNIC 


ing  through  the  manner  of  application  of  the  pigment 
seems  to  be  the  first  preoccupation  of  the  painter  of 
to-day.  In  any  discussion  of  this  preoccupation  it 
is  interesting  to  touch  briefly  upon  its  development, 
its  advances  and  retrogressions  in  the  past,  since  the 
best  plea  for  toleration  is  made  in  a showing  of  di- 
verse excellences. 

The  progression,  throughout  the  centuries,  toward 
freedom  of  handling  in  painting  is  not  successively 
graduated.  It  is  not  like  the  progression  of  a piece 
of  music  in  which  the  theme  has  been  planned  from 
the  beginning,  and  is  sketched,  then  stated,  then  de- 
veloped. Hints  there  are  for  development  of  brush 
practice,  but  they  seem  be  the  accidental  results  of 
temporary  procedure.  Such  are  the  hints  of  broken 
color  and  vibration  afforded  in  mosaic  work,  the 
foreshadowing  of  the  pointilliste  in  the  little  gilded 
or  bronzed  or  colored  dots  which  filled  the  wall 
paintings  of  the  Umbrians,  the  gilded  rays  from 
embossed  bursts  of  glory,  the  glittering  patterns 
impressed  by  the  tool  on  haloes,  or  upon  deliciously 
dainty  raiment  for  angels,  who  were  lucky  enough 
to  be  robed  by  the  splendor-loving  Sienese.  Dis- 
integration of  surface  and  color  change  have 
often  helped  instead  of  hurting  these  mixtures  of 
paint  and  gesso , till  some  of  the  tinselled,  celestial 
dandies  of  Crivelli,  for  instance,  have  become  really 
splendid  in  their  scintillant  surface.  But  this  is 
partly  accidental,  and  it  is  not  brush-handling,  for 


AND  PRESENT  TENDENCY 


293 


subtile  and  varied  brush-handling  could  only  begin 
to  grow  after  a vehicle  had  been  discovered  elastic 
enough  to  permit  dexterity  to  attain  freedom. 

At  first,  the  new  oil  medium  only  softened  model- 
ling instead  of  emphasizing  it.  With  the  Van  Eycks, 
with  Antonello,  with  Giovanni  Bellini  in  his  Frari 
Madonna,  the  manner  of  the  making  is  hidden  in 
some  of  the  most  beautiful  pictures  ever  painted;  but 
soon  men  became  quite  willing  that  the  brush  strokes 
should  be  seen;  and  a little  later  to  make  them  ob- 
vious, to  make  them  count  as  strokes,  was  a de- 
sideratum. In  the  work  of  Titian,  who  was  almost 
the  earliest  to  loosen  his  surface,  preoccupation  with 
construction  never  came  first,  and  he  thought,  not 
so  much  about  how  he  placed,  or  which  way  he 
dragged  his  brush  spot,  as  about  what  color  it  was, 
and  what  should  be  the  color  of  the  spot  beside  it. 
He  wanted  his  canvas  to  tell  at  a reasonable  distance, 
and  it  is  probable  that  change  of  eyesight,  as  his  years 
piled  themselves  up,  had  not  a little  to  do  with  the 
way  in  which  he  smudged  the  pigment  with  his 
thumb  or  with  a rag,  did  anything  indeed,  in  supreme 
indifference  to  all  except  result. 

Neither  Titian  nor  any  other  Venetian  could  have 
come  to  heavy  color-loading  abruptly.  The  depar- 
ture was  too  radical,  the  traditional  indispensability 
of  transparency  was  too  compelling.  They  were 
every  one  of  them  workers  in  tempera,  and  they 
could  not  forget  it  all  at  once.  They  began  their 


294 


MODERN  TECHNIC 


progression  by  putting  more  oil  in  their  cups  and 
widening  the  brush  sweep.  Correctness  of  sweep 
depended  on  the  man;  Veronese,  who  could  draw 
and  construct,  accomplished  it  easily  and  often. 
Tintoretto  achieved  it  with  mastery,  when  he  was 
willing  to  take  the  trouble,  as  in  his  “ Miracle  of 
St.  Mark,”  and  did  it  in  some  of  the  worst  of 
his  Scuola  di  San  Rocco  canvases,  as  if  he  had  been 
armed  with  a dirty  broom,  a bucket  of  oil,  and  a 
finished  insouciance.  Palma  Vecchio  came  some- 
where near  it  in  two  or  three  pictures,  but  usually 
painted  women  who  were  like  golden  balloons  of 
epidermis.  Fluid  breadth  had,  however,  at  last  been 
accomplished  in  the  best  paintings  of  Veronese  and 
Tintoretto,  with  pigment  thinly  but  loosely  and 
easily  swept  onto  the  canvas,  and  reinforced  here  and 
there,  in  the  lights,  with  slightly  loaded  passages. 
Tintoretto  left  no  one  behind  strong  enough  to  take 
up  the  Italian  succession,  but  the  funeral  in  Venice 
was  closely  followed  by  the  baptism  in  Siegen  of 
a little  Peter  Paul,  who  was  to  open  the  pathway 
to  modern  technic.  Rubens,  Vandyck,  and  their 
group  in  their  larger  canvases  developed  still  fur- 
ther the  fluent  ease  of  Veronese,  and  in  some  of  their 
works,  notably  in  some  of  their  heads,  began  to 
paint  solidly  dans  la  pate , with  brushes  which  left  a 
handsome  grain  behind  them.  With  Frans  Hals 
came  a breadth  which  in  its  unerring  assuredness  has 
not  been  surpassed,  and  Rembrandt  was,  perhaps. 


AND  PRESENT  TENDENCY 


295 


the  first  artist  who  frankly  entertained  himself  with 
pigment,  just  as  pigment,  that  is  to  say,  as  a pasty 
substance,  which  could  be  thickened  or  thinned, 
spread  heavily  or  not,  in  planes  or  lumps,  parsimoni- 
ously or  abundantly,  with  a hand  which  caressed, 
kneaded — did  just  what  it  chose,  in  fact.  Some- 
times keeping  his  mask  in  deep,  contrasted  shadow, 
he  loaded  a helmet  with  light  till  it  seemed  built  out 
as  if  with  gesso.  Sometimes  his  surface  was  full  of 
crumb,  friable-looking,  again  it  was  dissolved  until 
it  fairly  ran  with  golden  liquid,  then,  presto!  — he  re- 
turned to  a porcelain-like  smoothness,  recalling  his 
earliest  work,  and  on  the  morrow  leaped  forward 
again  to  the  breadth  of  his  Syndics.  Some  writer 
on  music  has  said  that  here  or  there  in  Bach  may 
be  found  the  suggestion  for  anything  in  music;  and 
one  might  say  that  almost  any  surface  handling  may 
be  found,  in  embryo  or  completed  development, 
between  the  Zuyder  Zee  and  the  Maas,  and  in  the 
years  that  made  up  the  seventeenth  century. 

Here  was  an  overpowering  inheritance  for  the 
lover  of  brush-handling,  and  it  was  varied  and  con- 
tinued elsewhere  and  later.  In  Spain  Velasquez 
came,  noble,  sometimes  impeccable,  the  monarch  of 
all  brush  workers,  so  sincere,  so  simple,  and  so  logical, 
that  he  beat  the  most  brilliant  on  their  own  ground. 
With  Hals,  for  instance,  one  notices  the  handling 
first  of  all;  with  Velasquez  one  only  feels  it  in  the 
perfection  of  the  result,  a result  aided  by  the  purity 


296 


MODERN  TECHNIC 


which  he  maintains  in  his  grays;  whereas  Hals  varies 
in  his  color,  passing  from  marvellous  force  and  clarity 
in  some  of  his  Haarlem  corporation  pictures  to  inky 
blackness  in  some  of  his  later  work.  In  Spain,  too, 
Goya  followed  later,  audacious,  disconcerting,  fasci- 
nating. In  the  French  eighteenth  century,  surface 
ran  a whole  gamut;  sometimes  the  languor  and  vapors 
of  the  boudoir  entered  into  the  artist’s  brush  work, 
which  again  turned  to  hard  commonplaceness  in  por- 
traits that,  nevertheless,  were  highly  characterized. 
Boucher,  at  times  charming,  was  often  cheap;  but 
Watteau,  Lancret,  Pater,  whether  melancholy  or  friv- 
olous, kept  a jewelled  suggestion  in  their  surface. 
Latour’s  little  masques  in  the  museum  of  St.  Quen- 
tin astound  us  to-day  by  their  vitality,  both  of 
execution  and  character,  and  Chardin  brought  to  his 
brush-handling  and  color  a quality  at  once  so  beauti- 
ful and  so  sterling  that  it  must  satisfy  the  most  ex- 
acting. Meanwhile,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Alps,  a 
solitary  figure,  Tiepolo,  performed  with  the  brush 
point,  whether  in  oil  or  fresco,  feats  of  disinvoltura , 
which  for  downright  skilfulness  have,  perhaps,  been 
unequalled  in  the  history  of  art.  Then  came  the 
deluge,  and  except  where  the  English  school,  inher- 
itor of  Rubens  through  Vandyck,  of  Titian  through 
Reynolds,  stood  safe  and  strong  in  its  insularity, 
tradition  was  swept  away  by  the  French  Revolu- 
tion. 

Surface  turned  in  the  hands  of  David  into  some- 


From  a photograph,  copyright  by  Curtis  & Cameron 

Henry  Oliver  Walker:  “The  Boy  of  Winander.”  Lunette  in  the  Library  of  Congress 

(In  the  series  devoted  to  poetry) 


AND  PRESENT  TENDENCY 


297 


thing  as  hard  as  his  own  pitiless  political  creed, 
though  there  were  occasional  rare  returns  to  the 
past,  as  in  the  wonderful  portrait  of  a young  man  in 
the  Salle  des  Quatre  Cheminees  of  the  Louvre  by 
Prudhon.  But  even  he,  great  artist  though  he  was, 
in  most  of  his  oil-paintings  shared  with  all  the  rest 
an  absolutely  uninteresting  handling  which  had  be- 
come common  property.  This  benumbed  condition 
of  one  of  the  technical  qualities  of  painting  lasted  for 
a while.  Then  the  wings  of  the  Romanticists  began 
to  flutter  uneasily,  and  presently  the  landscapists 
found  their  grove  of  the  Muses  in  the  forest  of 
Fontainebleau,  their  Pierian  spring  in  Barbizon. 

With  a check  of  but  fifty  years  at  most,  brush  work 
had  developed  in  one  way  or  another,  not  always 
steadily  advancing,  but  changing,  moving,  keeping 
alive,  from  Titian  to  Millet.  It  is  all  a great,  wonder- 
ful picture-book  in  which  may  be  found  the  excuse  if 
not  the  entire  justification  of  those  who  now  some- 
times preoccupy  themselves  too  entirely  with  sur- 
face, and  surely  it  is  open  also  for  the  confusion  of 
those  Sir  Charles  Coldstreams  of  post-impressionism 
who  declare  that,  as  with  the  crater  of  Vesuvius, 
“there  is  nothing  in  it.”  That  there  is  everything 
in  it  one  may  not  aver,  or  rather  we  may  not  say 
that  everything  has  already  come  out  of  it — the  up- 
heavals of  the  mountain  will  continue  as  long  as 
there  is  planetary  heat,  and  always  there  will  be 
something  new,  at  least  in  combination.  To  just 


298 


MODERN  TECHNIC 


what  forms  of  combination  the  future  will  turn  its 
kaleidoscope  the  artist  can  no  more  predict  than  can 
any  other  man.  Assuredly  the  few  last  years  have 
been  whirling  about  the  kaleidoscopic  tube  in  what 
has  seemed  at  times  an  almost  frenzied  pursuit  of 
novelty.  Nevertheless,  a study  of  our  American 
tendencies  in  the  present,  while  it  may  discover  and 
set  down  in  the  chart  dangerous  reefs,  yields  also 
abundant  material  for  both  pride  and  hope. 

Mr.  Kenyon  Cox,  in  his  admirable  book,  has 
shown  with  his  usual  lucidity  that  the  methods  of  the 
Venetian  painters  and  Correggio  in  the  treatment  of 
color  have  not  been  surpassed  since  they  laid  down 
their  brushes — perhaps  never  will  be  surpassed.  In- 
deed, their  canvases  are  so  beautiful  that  we  need 
not  look  for  anything  better,  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
we  shall  not  be  unreasonable  if  we  occasionally  ask 
for  something  different.  No  one  could  wish  for  more 
golden  color  upon  flesh,  which  is  yet  exactly  like 
flesh  and  not  like  a yellow  glaze  over  paint,  than 
one  sees  upon  the  torso  and  limbs  of  Correggio’s 
“Antiope”  in  the  Louvre,  or  the  marvellously  rich 
yet  delicate  passages  in  Titian’s  “Flora”  of  the 
Uffizi  in  Florence,  or  in  his  “Madonna  with  Saint 
Jerome”  in  the  same  gallery.  What  canvas  surface 
could  blaze  more  splendidly  than  Tintoretto’s  “Saint 
Agnes”  in  the  Orto  Church  of  Venice.  If  you  go  to 
it  at  the  right  hour  of  the  day  it  seems  fairly  in- 
candescent. Again,  as  one  stands  under  Veronese’s 


AND  PRESENT  TENDENCY 


299 


“Triumph  of  Venice,”  the  huge  oval  canvas  in  the 
Ducal  Palace,  one  never  ceases  to  marvel  as  to  how 
its  maker  could  have  found  so  much  glow  and  so 
much  freshness,  so  much  gold  yet  so  much  silver. 
Tiepolo  in  his  way  is  as  astonishing.  Perhaps  no 
other  methods  can  produce  such  lasting  glow  and 
transparency  as  the  thin  painting  with  glazes  and  oc- 
casional loaded  passages  practised  by  the  Venetians. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  while  cordially  agreeing 
for  the  most  part  with  Mr.  Cox,  I am  inclined  to 
go  even  further  than  he  does:  not  to  stop  with  the 
Venetians,  but  to  pass  on  and  claim  distinct  qualities 
for  opaque  and  loaded  color  also.  Indeed,  we  can- 
not stop  with  the  Venetians  and  their  transparent 
methods  in  technic  any  more  than  we  can  stop  at 
fifteenth-century  decoration  with  Pinturicchio  and 
the  quattrocentisti.  Mr.  Cox  admits  this  and  re- 
cords the  changes  as  readily  as  does  any  one,  his 
claim  being  simply  that  change  in  art  does  not 
necessarily  mean  advance.  Such  a claim  is  incon- 
trovertible, if  by  advance  we  infer  a higher  plane 
along  the  whole  horizon.  But  in  chronicling  de- 
velopment, opaque  and  loaded  pigment,  even  if  not 
as  ideally  suited  to  decoration  as  transparent  color, 
must  be  reckoned  with,  because  they  have  become 
the  desiderata  and  therefore  the  working  material 
of  the  artist  of  to-day.  In  a dome,  to  be  sure,  or 
any  mural  painting  placed  very  far  from  the  eye, 
loaded  pigment  can  no  longer  be  made  out  as 


3°° 


MODERN  TECHNIC 


an  attractive  element  of  surface  treatment,  but 
when  seen  near  at  hand  it  is  sometimes  effective. 
As  far  as  the  masters  of  transparent  color  are  con- 
cerned, 1 am  on  my  knees  to  Veronese  and  Pinturic- 
chio;  they  have  my  worshipping  admiration;  in  its 
way  nothing  can  be  better  than  either  of  them;  but 
there  are  other  ways;  man’s  heart  keeps  on  beating 
or  he  dies,  and  he  must  change  as  he  goes.  Perhaps 
the  new  ways  will  never  again  be  as  good  as  the  old 
ones,  but  there  is  always  room  for  hope.  Tiepolo 
had  already  in  the  eighteenth  century  advanced  in 
some  respects  beyond  his  inspiration,  Veronese;  and 
if  the  forms  and  spirit  of  art  change  from  generation 
to  generation  the  technic  which  expresses  them  is 
sure  to  undergo  modification,  some  of  it  hampering, 
some  of  it  even  hurtful,  but  some  of  it  surely  helpful. 
There  are  perhaps  aspects  of  nature  which  can  be 
better  expressed  in  opaque  and  loaded  color  than  in 
the  relatively  slight  washes  and  transparent  glazes 
of  the  Venetians. 

Mr.  Cox  says  very  truly  that  much  of  our  loaded 
pigment  is  mud;  so  it  is,  but  the  best  of  it  is  not. 
As  I look  at  the  work  of  some  of  our  powerful 
painters  and  stand  before  their  pounding  seas 
battering  great  rocks,  I cannot  believe  that  the  sense 
of  weight  and  volume,  the  feeling  communicated 
that  this  water  is  rubbing  away  the  coasts  and  carv- 
ing the  earth  into  new  shapes,  could  be  given  by 
thin  painting  with  glazes.  When  I look  at  the 


AND  PRESENT  TENDENCY 


3QI 


extremely  distinguished  cool  blue  sea  in  another 
artist’s  picture  at  the  Metropolitan,  I feel  that  his 
technic  in  turn  is  exactly  suited  to  what  he  wishes 
to  create.  Before  a canvas  in  a corner  of  the  Van- 
derbilt Gallery  of  one  of  our  academy  exhibitions,  a 
year  or  two  ago,  I said  to  myself:  “Is  it  necessary  to 
use  so  much  pigment  that  it  catches  the  light  un- 
pleasantly?” Then  I stood  back  at  the  proper 
distance,  and  replied  to  myself:  “Yes,  the  artist  is 
quite  right;  by  his  method  he  has  given  actual 
existence  in  paint  to  a huge  mass  of  mountain.  We 
feel  in  looking  at  it  that  it  has  been  heaved  up 
mightily  by  the  underforces  of  the  earth,  and  the 
vigorous  loading  of  the  color  helps  greatly,  at  least 
as  it  seems  to  me,  in  the  impression.” 

So  it  is  with  the  intense,  vital  work  of  many  of 
our  artists,  the  vigor  of  the  handling  helps  the  land- 
scape to  exist.  Look  at  some  of  the  powerfully 
painted  pictures  in  the  Metropolitan.  Great  masses 
of  opaque  color  have  been  used,  truly;  but  consider 
them  carefully,  and  you  will  see  how  these  splashes 
of  pigment  have  been  caressed  afterwards,  and  by 
subtility  and  glazing  have  been  worked  into  deli- 
cate harmonies;  here  in  these  canvases  are  Venetian 
methods  of  glaze  and  scumble  and  light  loading 
laid  directly  on  top  of  the  heavy  modern  painting. 
Whether  such  methods  will  last  chemically  is  quite 
another  matter.  Of  course,  the  less  pigment  you 
use  the  more  you  diminish  certain  unpleasant 


3°2 


MODERN  TECHNIC 


chances,  but  I have  never  heard  anything  conclusive 
on  this  subject,  and  hope  and  believe  that  the  dan- 
gers have  been  greatly  exaggerated. 

At  every  period,  even  the  most  eclectic — and  the 
present  is  assuredly  that — you  may  find,  if  you  look 
for  it,  a prevailing  tendency  in  technic.  Ours 
stands  out  and  does  not  have  to  be  sought;  it  is  the 
tendency  to  strive  for  vigor  of  presentation.  In 
sculpture  Rodin  has  been  an  exemplar;  in  painting 
we  are  proud  of  an  American,  Sargent,  who  as  painter 
overtops  in  his  sheer  force  even  most  of  the  painters 
of  the  past.  With  him,  and  with  a hundred  others, 
vigor  of  handling  has  so  entered  into  our  practice, 
and  so  fascinated  our  regard,  that  it  will,  I believe, 
remain  a dominant  quality  in  the  art  of  to-day.  It 
is  an  enormously  difficult  quality  to  cultivate  to  its 
highest  point,  because  that  highest  point  includes 
conciliation  of  vigor  with  depth  and  even  with  deli- 
cacy, since  perforce  nothing  is  complete  without  its 
complement.  To  even  approach  it  closely  is  enor- 
mously difficult,  for  the  added  volume  of  pigment 
renders  the  technical  task  still  harder  than  before, 
the  riddle  of  the  Sphinx  is  yet  more  troublesome  to 
answer. 

Yet  I cannot  believe  that  in  our  time  we  could  re- 
turn in  our  creative  wish  to  the  portraits,  for  in- 
stance, of  Van  Eyck  or  Holbein,  or  even  of  Mor, 
after  the  portraits  to  which  we  are  now  accustomed, 
with  their  volume  of  pigment  and  broad  handling. 


AND  PRESENT  TENDENCY  303 

We  could  not  do  them,  you  say,  if  we  would.  No, 
we  could  not,  because  we  could  not  wish  hard  enough 
for  that  kind  of  excellence  to  love  and  labor  it  into 
existence.  The  expression  of  our  aspiration  sounds 
to  other  chords,  our  labor  is  accomplished  more 
with  our  nerves.  The  Van  Eycks  and  Holbeins,  in 
their  profound  sincerity,  their  quiet  and  noble 
stateliness,  their  unsurpassability,  may  have  been 
finer  than  anything  we  can  do  to-day,  but  to  com- 
pare them  with  modern  work  is  neither  here  nor 
there.  The  gentleman  in  shining  armor  and  brocade 
may  have  been  better  to  look  at  than  the  man  who 
sits  to  us,  but  our  business  is  with  the  latter;  our 
way  is  our  way,  and  in  its  immediacy  it  is  in  the  main 
a sum  total  of  derivations  from  what  surrounds  us. 


XIV 


IN  CONCLUSION 


XIV 


IN  CONCLUSION 

Dexterous,  subtile,  powerful,  and  beautiful  han- 
dling of  surface  has  been  achieved  by  modern  Ameri- 
can painters.  Again  as  in  the  seventeenth  century 
there  are  seen  surfaces  crumby  or  running,  loaded 
everywhere  or  loaded  only  in  places,  spotted  and 
striped  or  united  and  smooth.  One  would  say  that 
everything  which  drag  or  scumble  or  glaze  could  do 
is  within  the  grasp  of  our  artists;  great  variety  and 
great  distinction  of  color  and  of  tone  have  been 
achieved:  our  painters  have  learned  to  speak  their 
language;  what  are  they  going  to  say  with  it? 
Rembrandt  said  sublime  things.  Titian  and  Rubens 
spoke  nobly,  Giorgione  passionately.  But  above 
all,  Rembrandt  said,  Holland!  Rubens,  Flanders! 
Giorgione,  Italy!  Will  our  painters  say,  America? 
Assuredly  yes,  in  time.  Already  our  French  accent 
has  lessened  to  the  proportions  of  a tonic  to  our 
enunciation — already  our  landscape-painters  are  na- 
tional, and  of  a certainty  our  portrait-painters  and 
sculptors  and  our  mural  painters  are  becoming  so. 

In  entering  any  of  our  best  exhibitions  to-day  the 

307 


3°8 


IN  CONCLUSION 


visitor  is  struck  at  once  by  the  quality  of  tone  of  the 
whole  as  compared  with  what  he  would  have  found 
there  only  a few  years  ago.  Our  sculptors,  men  and 
women  alike,  are  making  an  extraordinary  showing. 
As  to  mural  painting,  which  has  been  the  subject  of 
this  book,  no  field  is  wider,  more  embracing,  more 
capable  of  offering  a career  to  the  younger  genera- 
tion of  artists,  if  they  will  enter  upon  it  with  an 
earnest  spirit,  and  a willingness  to  study  commen- 
surate with  its  exactions.  I cannot  too  strongly  ex- 
press my  belief  in  the  potentiality  of  the  future  if  we 
will  only  think  hard  enough,  and  work  hard  enough, 
and  believe  hard  enough.  All  plans  can  be  bettered, 
all  appropriations  be  more  generously  made,  and 
more  wisely  expended,  all  work  can  be  better  done,  if 
we  will  only  study  the  matter  in  hand  closely  enough, 
study  it  unitedly,  and  look  back  intelligently  at  the 
past  with  the  future  in  our  minds.  Prodigious 
lessons  lie  spread  out  behind  us,  and  we  have  only  to 
look  over  our  shoulder  to  perceive  them,  without 
once  needing  to  turn  our  footsteps  backward.  On 
the  contrary,  we  may  push  forward,  architects, 
sculptors,  and  painters  all  together,  putting  Ameri- 
can dexterity  and  adaptability  at  the  service  of  the 
lesson  learned. 

Men  talked  and  acted  two  thousand  years  ago 
much  as  we  are  doing  to-day,  putting  aside  problems 
of  art  in  favor  of  budget  and  plan  of  campaign:  “the 
unnecessary ” in  favor  of  the  “necessary,”  “the 


Copyright  by  A.  R.  Willett,  iqio 


IN  CONCLUSION 


309 


superfluous”  in  favor  of  the  “ vital”;  and  two  thou- 
sand years  later  the  unnecessary  and  superfluous  is 
what  remains  vital  and  cogent,  a concrete  entity  and 
a compelling  influence.  Now,  when  a man  is  a 
power  in  the  land  one  of  his  rewards  is  the  ability  to 
acquire  some  surpassing  “old  master.”  When  a 
royal  visitor  comes  to  us  his  first  journey  is  to  the 
treasures  of  the  art  museum.  Do  not  let  us  mistake; 
some  of  the  stones  set  up  by  architects  to-day,  some 
of  the  messages  of  the  sculptor  and  painter,  will  be 
effective  still  when  some  of  the  ideas  now  current  in 
every  brain  and  influencing  hourly  action  are  super- 
seded and  have  faded  from  men’s  minds.  Good  art 
is  tremendous  in  its  endurance.  How  essential  is  it, 
then,  that  we  pay  tribute  of  earnest,  single-hearted 
thoughtfulness  in  watching  and  nursing  the  creative 
impulse,  lest  in  place  of  what  should  endure  we  pile 
up  rubbish  that  is  hard  even  to  sweep  away. 

And  in  the  payment  of  such  tribute  we  shall  but 
conform  to  the  wisdom  of  the  ages,  for  after  the  pa- 
triot there  was  no  one  whom  the  older  civilizations 
could  so  lastingly  bless  as  the  artist.  The  patriot 
gave  the  country  its  existence  and  preserved  it,  de- 
veloped its  resources  as  farmer  and  merchant,  and 
defended  it  as  soldier.  The  artist  set  up  the  land- 
marks by  which  the  city  was  known;  he  gave  it  the 
distinctive  shape  which  was  dear  to  each  townsman; 
he  made  the  familiar  sky-line  which  told  the  return- 
ing traveller  that  he  was  nearing  home;  he  gave  their 


3io 


IN  CONCLUSION 


character  to  the  well-known  streets,  and  set  town  hall, 
church,  and  court-house  in  their  places.  The  money 
of  the  merchant,  the  labor  of  the  farmer  and  artisan, 
were  the  solid  base  upon  which  all  these  arose;  and 
this  treasure  which  they  gave  remains  to  them  still, 
and  pedestals  their  memory  as  enduringly  as  their 
monuments.  But  the  artist  was  the  creator;  he 
stamped  the  city  materially  as  truly  as  ever  coiner 
struck  the  impression  of  the  die  into  the  soft  gold 
and  left  there  the  lily  of  the  florin,  or  the  winged  lion 
of  the  sequin.  And  the  home-sick  wanderer,  when  far 
away,  carried  with  him  in  his  mind  the  creation  of  the 
artist. 

And  it  is  so  to-day.  The  traveller  is  thinking  of 
home,  of  his  native  city,  but  what  represents  it  to 
him  in  memory  is  Christopher  Wren’s  great  dome  of 
Saint  Paul’s — a blue-gray  bubble  upon  a horizon  of 
sepia;  or  it  is  Soufflot’s  Pantheon,  topping  its  wave- 
crest  sky-line  of  houses;  or  the  twin  towers  of  Notre 
Dame,  and  the  long  vapor-canopied  stretch  of  river 
curving  westward  to  where  the  sunset  shines  through 
that  giant  loop  of  masonry,  the  Arch  of  the  Star. 
What  is  the  city  of  Cologne  to  any  of  us  but  the 
huge  church  which,  as  the  Rhine  steamer  recedes 
with  us,  grows  and  grows  and  dwarfs  its  surround- 
ings till  it  seems  bigger  than  the  town?  Strasburg 
is  a spire  pointing  upward  from  the  flat  green  plain 
of  Alsace;  Pisa  is  that  one  solemn  group  of  buildings, 
the  mausoleum  of  her  dead  liberty.  And  thus  to 


IN  CONCLUSION 


3ii 

each  of  us  his  native  city  means  some  familiar  shape, 
and  each,  when  distant  from  it,  like  Dante  exiled 
from  Florence,  longs  for  “il  mio  bel  San  Giovanni .” 

Every  civilization  of  the  past  has  turned  to  the 
fine  arts  to  make  a nobler  setting  for  its  daily  life. 
Each  has  looked  backward  and  learned  of  the  fore- 
runners; and  we  must  do  even  as  they.  We  may  do 
as  France  has  done:  go  and  sit  at  the  feet  of  the 
masters  and  learn  to  achieve  that  wider  art  which 
embellishes  not  only  our  individual  houses  but  our 
city.  For  France  has  sat  at  the  feet  of  Italy.  She 
has  sent  her  architects,  painters,  sculptors  to  Rome. 
Of  her  great  mural  painters,  Paul  Baudry  went 
straight  to  Michelangelo,  Raphael,  and  Correggio; 
Puvis  de  Chavannes  to  Giotto,  Luini,  and  the  Lom- 
bards. Adding  their  native  genius  to  the  study  of 
great  examples,  her  architects  have  laid  out  Paris  so 
cunningly,  and  created  so  many  beautiful  temples, 
courts  of  law,  fountains,  and  squares,  that  the  eye 
travels  almost  insensibly  from  vista  end  to  vista 
end,  and  rests  successively  upon  these  different  ar- 
chitectural creations  as  upon  so  many  points  of  pa- 
triotic progress  along  the  path  of  civilization,  until, 
last  of  all,  it  reaches  the  town  hall,  where,  upon  its 
fa£ades,  the  dead  worthies  of  France  stand  sculp- 
tured in  scores — patriots,  artists,  writers,  workers  of 
all  kinds;  the  choir  invisible  made  visible  in  stone — 
at  once  a commemoration,  a decoration,  and  an  eter- 
nal stimulus. 


312 


IN  CONCLUSION 


As  it  is  in  Paris,  so,  let  us  hope,  it  shall  one  day  be 
in  America  when  we  shall  have  put  our  best  art 
where  it  belongs,  at  the  top,  in  the  public  building; 
for  we  shall  have  a national  school  when,  and  not 
until,  art,  like  a new  Petrarch,  goes  up  to  be  crowned 
at  the  capitol. 


UUW/<HTn[SO(i 


